The long walk.

[Pipkin]

"If you no treated bad..give you no reason to teach me you no so bad after all."

She winked at him; WINKED. Odd behavior for this one. But then again, she was rarely in a room alone with someone where she had little fear of having an impression to give on outsiders.

"Elil Alseides, Komikai Zou of Akashic Brotherhood, Scales of Dragon, Warring Fist clan."

Long name. She rose, actually bowing to the man as she spoke the words. Her hair, long as it was, fell over her shoulder, it's braided end dusting the filthy floor through her action.

"What you do is good thing. You die, I pray other understand what for. Is no way make them learn, Mikhail-san. You only have hope they...mm...get it, ne? If they no understand, then you die for nothing. I hope you think on that. Maybe..save you next time if you do live. Give you reason to think thing through. Do thing smarter."

Dusting off the legs of her silken pants, Elil prepared to leave. The conversation seemed to have come to a close, and night time was drawing near.

[Mikhail]

"I am most honored warrior of dragon." That was all he could say on -that- matter as his only hand became a fist and struck at his chest towards his heart, the regard of a knight, not one of her kind; then again she had been here so long surely she had seen it before; even as his head bowed in such a way; it was nothing less then respect it would appear; why? Good question.


"I am not meaning to learn others, aikurushii, I just wish that if I am to be ended that it is with my honor, and I have that." He told her in an earnest way, he just wanted to make sure nothing was of question in this matter, -he- went with the gaurds -he- killed those ... white robes on his own -- so he will tell -- and if that was it he would see a noose or axe with a smile, a smile she saw now.


"It was nice to sit with you Elil, perhaps another day we will again, and share some sake?" How he loved drink, no matter what land it came from.

[Pipkin]

"You have honor..."

But not every man in history who died with honor..died with something else to go with it. She did not warn the man on that, however. He seemed smart enough to understand the concept. Why she was so wary for him was another matter. Perhaps it had something to do with herself..and her own failing belief in her culture's system.

"You stay long, I bring more....water to you."

There was a hint of something in her voice, and a grin lit her features. Sake. That didn't come to these parts easily. Especially in this weather. Except...for recently. That in itself had to do entirely with herself. The one Sake dealer for miles, likely countries around.. Mikhail was talking to the right woman.

[Mikhail]

The night had been long, unrested and the words of the japanese woman had long soaked in, as if for a time he truely understood her words and what they ment in the long run. He sat with eyes forward, the dankness of the cell shielded from the heat atleast and left it a bit cooler, dispite what would seem to suffocate his appetite as dinner and luch were still were the gaurd had left them on the floor. The buzz of insicts outside from the small-barred left his ears ringing from the inside silence, eyes set forward with chin lifted, never wavering; glazing slightly.....



~~~~

"Mikhail!" The buzzing continued louder, drumming in his ears like a war-party marching in his head as his heart pouded in fear, his breaths were quick and frantic as he ran, pulling the small child behind him who called out again. "Mikhail! Why must we run?" Her childish screamed as her crying continued, near frenzied with worry of what was going on, barely keeping up with the tug of her arm as her other clutched the raggy roll in the other. Into a clearing he stopped for a moment to look behind him; never look behind when running for fear of what one might see, and he saw them, three men on horses in opaline armor off in the distance as he stopped for a moment to knee infront of the girl and shake her, both hands that left the bloodied blade he had in his other clink into the soft spring grass.


"You must go to the next farm sister, tell them what happened here, don't stop running. Go." The man's voice told the little girl who was red in the face from a fit of tears, she was calmer then and sniffing franticly as he shoved her off towards the brush into the forest, stumbling a bit the little girl regained her steps and finally started to dash off as fast as her little feet could carry her. Once he made sure she was off in the distance he stood up slowly with a shake of his hands as he brought his blade up in a defensive stance, as if he barely knew how to hold a blade at all, the large claymore that it was, slightly rusty from lack of use over years.


That sound, it was a sound he'd never forget, the slipping of a swoop and the twang of a string, the projectile leaving one of the horsemen's bow with a soar, sinking cleany into his abdomen as the others advanced, long swords drawn and ready. The dizziness overcame him quickly as the pain wracked through him, already crumpling for the ground as wicked tips thrusted and poked into the flesh of his body from eitherside, dropping him and the blade like a practice dummy for trained soldiers. Breathing slowed and his eyes glanced towards the sky, it was crystalline blue and beautiful, the clouds going by and cool spring day was just almost perfect in everyway. The sounds of the horse hooves stopped and circled around, even as his glossy eyes stared heavenward did his hand reach for that blade hilt, clawing in the dirt as his throat spasmed, choking up some sanguine gore from the side of his mouth. It was the last thing he remembered before the blackness, the enternal comfort that began to overcome him until....

"Still alive are we? I'm amazed." The offland accent came, ticks and tats of iron cookware and tools chimed in the soft breeze as Mikahil peeked his eyes barely open, choking again in another soft fit of oncoming death. He remembered that man again, that hat and face sihlouetted by the baring sun. "Easy now, you're not dead yet." The voice assured, even as the note of the scotsman hand twitching weakly in the hole dug by fingernails just below the pommel of his blade, desperately trying still."Still got some fight left in you too I see?" A soft chuckle, amused as a hand was left on Mikhail's forhead once the darkness started to come again, and then that word came; "Breath."

~~~~~



.... eyes blinked once as he sat in his cell, the flood of memory seeming almost real, intranced by it all as he breathed in, desperately seeking breath as if he had been drowning, being choked. In the late afternoon his head craned faintly, as if trying to regain his barings before there was a soft clear of his throat adn his eyes went back forward, unwavered; staring blankly.

[Mikhail]

Dinner came and gone, the plate of slop left with the other two as he continued to just stare onward and onward, a drunk put in at sometime this morning, was slamming a tin cup against the iron bars, clanking over and over in his sloppiness. Clink, clink...


~~~~~

Clink, clink, the flash of steel and a tightening of metal, scraping as the mysterious man stepped forward, closing the gap in the gridlock of mastery. "You've become better my friend." That accent rolled out the common easily as the elven man held his blade tightly against the scotsman, both were sweating profusely in their endevour; the practice of war. A quick step and the deflect of a blade as the lithe male took a defensive step back to parry away another blow with ease.


"You should know." The thick accent of the highlands rolled out in his advance, the two men working the spar of blades like marionettes dancing in the fine art, finessed and fluid, two long shadows in the late afternoon of the forest. Right hand firmed on the thin blade's hilt as another advanced was drawn, towards the right side of the elf that was stammering back abit as almost caught off gaurd, however his counter was towards Mikhail's left side which he tried to catch, only to slip and fall away, catching the side of his arm with a wince.


"Still weak on your left side however, we're done for today." The man stated towards his pupil before his self-made blade of his heritage was brought to the bridge of his nose as it laid in palmed hands, bowing in a formal regard of his people in respect of the warrior. "Come, walk with me back to the temple." He commanded to the man as he began to put away his weapon with a practiced slide as he spun on a heel to head in the direction of the treeline.


Mikhail could only offer a nod in that time as he ripped off a piece of his sleeve and quickly bandaged the small wound, no doubt it was stayed with the sttack, it could have been deeper. After tight with his hand and teeth he picked up his simple sword and put it away, a moment to aim it towards the slit of the sheath as if unsure at first, but he soon put it away as he jogged up to walk with the man ... that man he met on the fated day; the one he owes his life to. "What is it, Sir?" He asked humbly towards the man, walking much like he did with a regal, a prideful gait; both men palming the pommel's of their weapons.

"There is discussion between I and the others of you becoming a hunter, my pupil. I agree with the council that you would make a good one, we need more, I cannot do this myself." The elven spoke flatly, as if he knew it was not as much of an honor as one might think, there were darker thing afoot in his sentence, however secrecy was always their way. The ruffle of the fall leaves fell under heavy boot steps as the air grew crisp and called of winter. "As you know, what we offer will make you whole again, since that day I found you, you've never be able to overcome your weakness, you have potential but your destroyed body holds you back."


Mikhail was offering a solemn nod to this, in his time with his teacher he has been told of this way, and known what it entails, to a degress, and not only did he still have the scars and pain from that day, his mind was still tormented of it, what happened, the lines of his family's blood still painted the walls of his mind, and the thought of his sister never getting away gripped at his heart. He had many demons, many demons. "I understand what it entails, I only hope that I can do my best for the oath, and that one day soon I shall be able to bring vengeance upon my enemies." Was his only reply to that, forget anything else he would endure of taking the burden himself; he wanted to become skilled so that he could never have to suffer weakness again; he lusted for it.


"Rage, vengeance and anger is a quick way to see death Mikhail, it will eventually consume you and you will be but a shell of what you are, remember that." His sage told him sternly, pausing a moment to glance dark eyes towards his pupil before he nodded and then continued on in their walk back and speak again; "It is decided then, and you shall be given the regard of the passion I see in your heart when your new role comes." They were cryptic words, but then again....


He was nodding in understanding of this, he did not seem happy or sad, merely ready to move to the next level in his training, to become better, and his only words after his youthed foolishness were a promise to the only man he'd ever respected; he'd die for. "I shall use your teachings to protect the innocent then, that is my vow..." He promised with a clentch of his jaw, that fire of passion snaking out of his lips in a breath, yes, that is what he would do.


"That will not matter in the end, my pupil ... in the end that is all you will have left to exist for." Came the morbid reply before there was a nod and into the clearing they would eventually come, the first sign of snowfall blinding the two figures into a paint of dotted white, off in the distance.


~~~~~


Eyes of ale watched that cup going back and forth over the bars in his lapse of nostalgia, finally the racket broke him away from the thought; the memory. He was turning away then to clear his mind, it was normal however these times of things, being in a solitary state for any amount of time made the mind wander and search, trying to figure out what brought it to this point of numbed silence. There was a breath through his nose and he turned back to watch the wall in his cross-legged regard upon his stoned perch, single hand gripping at his knee as he hummed a tune in his head and closed his eyes finally, thinking of the barmaid to keep his thoughts from straying; a tiny smile peeking at his lips with this.

[BrokenDreamer]

What harm would there be in allowing the gangly, teenage boy entrance into the Gaol? Obviously unarmed, save for the envelope he had been paid a shilling or two for delivery. Should the guards even find it nessacary to peek within that, there was naught but a few scrawled words and something much to soft to be of any use for escape. Harmless.

With scuffling feet and rather wide eyes, the sandy-blonde youth would make his way down through the rows of cells -nose wrinkled all the while with the assulting smells. Mikhail was presented with a second visitor during his stay with the 'lavish' quarters provided.

"Hey.. I were told ta bring you this.." Blue eyes would squint and peer into the cell, puggish nose trying so hard to not breath in too deeply. The envelope would be held hesitantly between two of the bars, wavering a bit within his own grip. Never been this close to a criminal before! ..allow the boy this small touch of excitement in a life he concidered much too dull.

Whether it was taken from his hands or if the boy was forced to simply flip it within, he was taking off like an arrow without another word. Wait till the guys hear about this one! Of how he bravely stared down a murderer! Shillings jangled in his pocket with each bounding step.

The envelope itself was plain and nondescript, the folded note inside so carefully writen said but one line:

Every knight should carry a token of the lady who favors him, a scrap of hope when things look dark.

Within the folds of the note, the silken curl of autumn glory would show brightly even in the dark.. tied so carefully with a small twist of blue ribbon.

[Mikhail]

Eyes were watery from being open and unblinking for so long, even as the boy came with the letter, it was thrusted out to him in an earnest and Mikhail was not one to shun him away, though perhaps it was that towering stalk towards him that send him away, running off up into the light of the upstairs as the large man advanced to accept, he was an intimidating man after all, especially to a boy. Once the missive is secured he sat back down and opened the flimsy seal, looking at the single piece of written word and that same came ... -that- smile.


Fingers lifted the piece of hair and ribbon as it was pulled apart, the beginning of a lace onto an unruly lock of his own, braiding it into the back part of his untrimmed hair, ribbon and autum folded perfectly into rusty hue, leaving the favor to easily curl behind a rounded ear; eyes held the torch of the night as he did this; another bout of repression submerged.....


~~~~~

"She is tainted!" Mikhail's voice echoed as he stood with his blade ready, the regard of crimson hued armor on his right hand, blade held in left. The scene was a throne room aflame as a dark figure stood in the middle, him and his teacher, and his partner; his teacher a man at this point he has learned to call an equal by his name - Darius. Ale eyes flicked between the trio, ready.



The dark figure beckoned slowly with clawed digits towards the unnamed partner, slowly drawing the woman towards him as it's words whispered out like silk, smooth and comfort; promsing. "I can still make you understand my dear, they are the last now, if we kill them then you are free, free to learn what they cannot." It crooned as the elven woman slowly pulled away from Mikhail and Darius towards the shroud, slowly turning to join it, confused at first before her beautiful features began to twist into a psychotic grin, pale eyes watching Darius in a flash to let him know he failed ... but not just as a teacher ... as... "Kill him Kirinelle, show me your loyalty." That masculine voice called again as a finger crooked at the man called Darius, and just on words did the lithe woman crouch abit and draw her blades from her side, those dirk-like weapons, rushing with a cry at her lover in rage ... anger ...


Darius was no simple boy, or a little squire, the blades -- due to distance of them -- were easily flicked away as his own dragged againt the neck of the woman, it was too easy how her head was removed, even as her carnage splatted across his face it was watered down with tears, who had rage now? He wanted more then anything to destroy that thing, to make it suffer ... to have vengeance. The elven was darting at it, blade hiked behind him even as his lover ... his wife fell in a dead body upon the stone. The the clank of blades echoed before the corpse was even thumped on the cold floor, alighted in the chaos of the out of control fire.


Mikhail seemed shocked for a moment, as if it was the most unseen thing he'd ever witnessed, which was at this point close to it, but even as his eyes watched his long favored friend fall to the ground lifeless his blade was being hiked to help, another blade came out to meet from the shrouded creature, deflecting blow after blow from both him and the screaming elven. Teacher and pupil worked as one, staving off the obviously more powerful thing. It was then he herd a crack of flesh and bone, the call of his name; calling him to that place of calmness and practice.


"Your turn, Mikhail." Was all that was said as Darius was impaled upon a large blade easily, lifted into the air with an almost triumphant stance, even as it deflected Mikhail's blows, however -that- blade was tossed to the scotsman from a hand and both began a relent upon the thing. Left equally ruthless as the right, it didn't expect that and faltered, just enough that his right blade could see it's front, his own weapon cleaving completely through robe and fabric as Darius' given blade struck down to cut a hand, releasing his friend from the lifted impalement as the creature fell backwards in utter shock, enough time for the elven-made blade to fall, the perfection of the weight leaving it to strike into the marble ground next to the felled man as Mikhail rushed towards the evil, that dark thing, his own blade hilt gripped as it stuck out of a chest, ripping up with a cry of all his strength, peeling back breast and skull through the top, in the force of his brute strength he lost grip and let go, sending his blade into flame as the towering frame of his enemy stammered back in a stumble, falling back in a pool of dark evergreen gore upon the ground.


Mikhail rushed to his friend's side with a hand coming to Darius' blade stuck in the ground, he knelt infront of him to check the damage ... it was far worse then that fated day they first met and the roles were reversed. He had no idea what to do, he was breathing in a panic again, eyes scanning as if to see if he could do -anything-, however Darius only had a smile for his pupil in that time, a hand reaching out towards his own, hand upon hand on that blade's hilt, the *dying* moments of the elf only had a few words for him with the last of his breaths as the fire grew; "When you find your heart Mikhail, you will never live life again ..... the same. My blade is your *heart* now, and the day you feel you no longer need it, your true heart shall hold it for you in a time of need .... that is when you know you are free... it is your being, it is your oath, it is everything you are ... everything I taught you; this blade is all of what you are now, as it was me." Cryptic words, it made no sense to him at the time, but then again he was still young, and with a nod of his head he pressed his left hand upon his brethren's side, stickied with the blood impaled as his right pulled that blade free from the ground of stone, rushing towards the door with it as the flame and ceiling became too much and caved in it all ...


~~~~~

In that last pause he tied that last piece of hair and ribbon he had the same smile his friend did that day, that smile of knowing that if he were to die; -if- he would, that his keepsake was with his heart and they could take his head, but they could -not- take that, they could not take that blade; they could not take -her-.

[channe]

Another visitor, then, for the one-armed man in the gaol. It is late; perhaps he's roused from sleep by a guard who bangs on the bars, or the clearing of his visitor's throat. Perhaps he'll be angry. But then, perhaps -- just perhaps -- the man who visits Mikhail would be a welcome sight.

"Sir," says Coriolanus Helstone, barrister, "I have been retained to represent you at your trial tomorrow. I do apologize for the late intrusion, but we have quite a bit of work to do."