Supermaxx

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

---

Katsuro raised a brow at the curious lot gathered in the smithy. A gaggle of local village children, it seemed, with the shopkeeper nowhere in sight. They froze where they stood. He must've looked a fox to this nest of rabbits with the way their eyes glistened with fear. Off to the side he caught sight of a dirt-stained woman shrinking into a back room. Another stood off to the side, muscles coiled like a snake ready to strike. Those trepidatious first moments of silence were broken by a tall, pale boy beside the forge. His attire suggested this was his place of business, yet Ashida couldn't hide his amusement at the idea that this pretty waif of a boy was a metalworker.

Despite his looks, the boy was polite. Katsuro ought to reciprocate.

"We've traveled a great distance to get to your...humble village. It has been many months since a proper smith attended to our equipment. We'll need horseshoes, nails, hatchets. Many of our blades are dulled as well."

He untied the sheathe and pulled it out of his belt. Holding it out before Tsubasa, Katsuro revealed a few inches of the blade. The uchigatana was clearly well-worn, its edge dulled from lack of care. The metal itself was not of any particular quality; even the basic tools within the shop were made of higher grade iron than this. Whoever had forged it had likely recycled old pig iron from pots and broken tools and the like to form its brittle core.

Re-sheathing the weapon, Ashida pushed it into Tsubasa's hands and continued to speak: "Does your village have a lord, or an elder you look to for leadership? I need to negotiate our stay here for the time being while we comb the valley for our prize." The weariness that had plagued him since he stepped into the shop seemed to subside for a moment, overtaken by a covetous excitement that shone like fire in his eyes. "You lot ought to count yourselves lucky. You will see our liberation from the demon's yolk first hand."

--

Outside the Crane's Roost Inn, more than a dozen armed and armored soldiers stood still as the grave. All eyes were on the new arrival: a young woman in riding leathers atop a horse of her own. She'd ridden up before Shigeru and answered his boisterous demands with one of her own. The tension running through the village square was palpable. Hands hovered near the hilts of weapons in rapped anticipation, as if one wrong move might bring eighteen blades flying from their sheathes. The air itself seemed to hiss with the possibility of violence- the cold gripping all present like an unspoken threat.

The giant raised his head ponderously toward the squeaking of some angry little mouse. A country girl on a sickly-looking mule had ridden up before Shigeru, defiance burbling in her throat. The surprise on the big man's face was clear as day. He hadn't expected anyone in this backwater to give him lip. But a little girl? It was so absurd he couldn't muster his rage. All he could manage was an ugly, barking laugh. It came from so deep in his belly he nearly stumbled over his own club and fell on his ass. A few of his cronies joined in with laughter of their own, though it was colored with an undercurrent of nervousness.

"What queer sort've place 'ave we found ourselves in, where grown men cower in their hovels while little girls stand their ground?" Shigeru asked between dwindling chuckles. "They even give 'em whole inns o' their own! Ha! Fine, fine."

Onisawa Shigeru gave an exaggerated bow. "You 'ave my deepest apologies, little inn-master," he rumbled. Even his 'speaking voice' could drown out most people's shouts. "I did not mean to offend. I do so 'umbly request that you fetch oats for our horses and sake for our bellies..."

There was a sudden burst of movement as Shigeru lurched toward the rider, reaching one of his massive hands up toward her shoulder to grab at her. He intended to snatch the girl from her saddle and toss her into the mud at his feet.

"Or I'll introduce yer outsides to yer insides."

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

Yoshino Denji (The serious twin)

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name - Yoshino Denji Age - 25 Gender - Male Occupation - Hunter - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Traditionalist Denji is a stickler for tradition after learning of his uncle's death. Having to watch his twin brother constantly shirk his duties feels Denji with untold dread. This has led the man to constantly act within the traditions, never once coming close to breaking them. Any breaking of these traditions will cause Denji to "discipline" the guilty party. Praying is vastly important to the point he prays at every turn. This traditionalism brought a level of fear toward Yokai that Denji has yet to rectify. Stalwart Thanks to growing up alongside a hyperactive twin, Denji is rather the silent type. He does not use many words to express himself nor, does he often go out of his way to befriend anyone. Anything that would get in the way of keeping the village safe and fed is seen as non-important; this does NOT mean that Denji avoids every get together but, that he chooses to be friendly after all tasks are finished. Selfless Denji is constantly helping those around the village despite his own personal wants and needs. This does not extend to those he considers harmful to traditions but, instead he is willing to patiently help those in need. Even so, Denji will not go out of his way if he thinks it will harbor on harming the traditions set in place. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Tracking Denji is an expert tracker. He has trained extensively underneath his father and grandfather, acquiring secrets that even his brother has yet to learn. Tracking is a hobby to Denji despite seeing it as a necessity, practicing his skills during his free time. The thrill of the hunt excites the man; hiding that excitement for his brother doesn't tease him. Using every sense, Denji can track with the best of his clan. Sojutsu To make a long story short, Denji is rather experienced when using a spear; specifically learning sojutsu to support his brother's affinity with archery. He has no love for using the spear, but it allows him to stay out of danger when hunting. He has practiced tirelessly to strike and kill animals in a single strike so as not to invoke the wrath of the yokai. Cook A trait learned from their mother, Denji has an affinity for cooking. He thoroughly enjoys mixing herbs, and spices to find the best combinations, marinating his meat to perfection. There is not much to say but, he has a specific eye for grilling. Cooking family meals has been a tradition for Denji for as long as he could remember.

Physical Description Considering that Denji is a identical twin, he shares a set of features with his older twin that classifies them as pleasing to the eye. The younger twin does attempt to differentiate himself from his brother, keeping his hair semi-straight in comparison to Denki's spiky look, and growing his hair out into a ponytail that reaches his lower back. Physically his body matches Denki almost identically, his muscles being more defined and pronounced due to his rigid training. Notably there is a scar across his left cheek from a failed hunt. Character Conceptualization Denji has not had a interesting life up to this point. For years, he was the responsible twin, despite being younger by a few minutes, that had to keep Denki in line. His stalwart and rigid personality being a result of his fear of Yokai; a fear crafted from losing his uncle to a yokai when Denji was 5 years old. This fear is a big part of the reason why he keeps to tradition so fervently, even explaining why he comes down so hard on his older twin so often, the fear of losing someone else swims through his mind every hunt. But also this fear has lead to a fascination with the old world and the relic that Takamori Kenji keeps at his side. Denji would be content with keeping things the way they are but, a part of him remains curious of the past. Other Information Denji constantly has to prepare Denki's meals and remind him to eat The shoulder pad on his kimono is a reminder of his Uncle Daiki, the same shoulder pad he died wearing Denji knows the signs purify, heat, and slow It is a rather known bit of info that Denji is afraid of Yokai but, only Denki knows how much

@Taka

Denji's accepted!

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

---

The cold of the day scarcely grew more bearable as the day marched on. In the time that had passed since dawn, dark clouds had rolled over the valley to cut off what little light the rising sun offered. The venerable Moriyama complained of aches in his bones- a surefire warning of coming rain. Some within the village placed votive offering papers in their households to the kami of rain to forestall its coming until the celebrations had concluded. Others rushed to ensure their windows were closed and none of their belongings were left to be soaked, fearing its coming regardless: some things were the will of the gods, regardless of the whims of men.

On the western edge of the village, where a handful of logger's camps and hunting lodges meet the edge of the Mumbling Wood, something stirs. Small animals rush from the safety of their dens and into the dirty streets of the village. Birds flee from their nests for distant horizons. Even a handful of Yokai follow, leaping into open windows or scratching and yipping at closed doors for the villagers within. People more curious than afraid peer out of the safety of their doorways into the dark clump of trees.

Hoof beats sound in the dozens. The voices of men, loud and abrasive, bay in similar number. Mounted soldiers break the treeline at a trot. Banners mounted on their backs flap in the wind as they ride: on them, a burning, steel fist on a crimson field. They wear mismatched armor of scavenged scraps, hastily slung together to patch holes in old, worn lamellar. Weapons of all kinds hang from their hips and backs: from clubs, spears and swords to bows, and a handful of long, metal tubes attached to odd handles. Panicked screams filled the air at the sight of these tools of blasphemy. Villagers sprinted away in terror, some headed deeper into town with warning cries on their lips, and others running for the safety of the wilderness. None of the horsemen gave chase. They simply continued down the main avenue, more of their number exiting the treeline to follow. Perhaps twenty men in total rode into Heiseina.

They came to a halt in the center of town before the Crane's Roost Inn. Some dismounted, taking their horses by the reins and making their way toward the pitifully small stables attached to the building. It could barely house half their mounts even if it was empty, and a few visitors from other villages had come in to partake in the celebrations. "This place is a sorrier sight than we thought. Largest village we could find and this is the best they've got? Its barely bigger'n a chicken coop." A giant of a man with a belly big around as a barrel grumbled, loudly.

He pulled a spiked war club nearly as tall as some of the other men around him from its holster on the saddle bags, much to his horse's relief. It was a massive beast itself, yet even still it was a wonder it could carry the man on its back for any time at all. "Where's the damned stable boys? Or in the innkeep, for that matter?" He thundered, his voice booming for all the world to hear. He leaned his impressive weight against the club as he stood beside his horse, waiting impatiently for someone to appear.

Another rider dismounted and left his horse's reins in the hands of another man so he could make his way across the village square. He strode with purpose toward one of the only groups of people still out on the streets. They were milling about around a squat, long structure. The hand-painted sign outside- and the clanging sounds from within- told him it was the shop of a metalworker.

"Good morning," he called out as he allowed himself inside, his voice straining to maintain a polite authority through his exhaustion. The heavy bags beneath his eyes and sweat-slicked forehead even in this chill reinforced this well. He wasn't a particularly tall man, nor was he sweet on the eyes: his face was scarred, his nose slightly crooked, and his expression ever dour. His armor appeared to be in better shape than he was. It had fewer dents and ad-hoc repairs than the rest of his cohort, and was even painted in the same red crimson of his banner, that flaming hand adorned on his chest piece. On his left hip a sword hung from his belt. Simple, unornamented, yet its like had not been seen in the valley for over three hundred years. On his right hip was a leather holster containing an alien device- a metal tube attached to a cylindrical chamber and a curved wooden handle.

"I am Captain Ashida Katsuro of the Blazing Fist," Katsuro bowed slightly in introduction. "I was hoping you could help me."

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

---

Takamori Kenji sat on his knees before his hearth, a kettle suspended on an iron hook over the open flames. He pulled his haori tighter around his chest. The morning was far too cold for his liking, especially this late into the new year. Another ill omen to add to the other, he knew. The size of the Takamori estate did little to help things: the first floor was a large, open space, as was traditional of the oldest homes in Heiseina. Paper screen dividers on rolling racks could be put up to split the chamber into multiple, smaller rooms, providing privacy for those who wanted it. Kenji had drawn the screens closed around the central hearth in the hopes that they would keep in the heat. It was better than nothing, he thought with a sigh, watching the shadows from the fire dance on the partitions. The light danced on the painted paper, accentuating scenes from Heiseina's history.

One painting showed the founding of the village, with the first Takamori patriarch kneeling before Miorochi and five other gods at the foot of the shrine. On another, the legendary swordsmiths of the Takahashi family fashion the Takamori blade from sacred dragon scales. Running along the bottom of every dividers was the Shimmering River, its life-giving waters filled with fishermen, kappa and villagers washing their clothes or simply swimming away the hot summer days. Along the top was an image of Miorochi soaring through the clouds, his body so long that he wrapped all the way around the dividers so that his nose met his tail.

The last piece wasn't as tasteful as the others. Depicted on the off-white paper screen were a dozen swords thrust into the earth before a shadowed, bottomless pit. Standing on one side of the pit was the grandfather of Kenji's grandfather, family sword sheathed at his hip. He held an accusing finger toward a man on the opposite side of the pit. The other man was on his knees, hands wrapped around the hilt of one of the earth-bound swords as he tried in vain to pull it from the dirt.

Fujiwara Ichiro had made his opinion on the art clear many times over the years. Kenji understood why he took offense. If the original piece wasn't over two and a half centuries old he would've considered replacing it or taking the shoji down. It was not his place to paint over his family's history, even its darkest times; he was merely its conservator.

It was all of excellent quality, he had to admit. He noted a few places where the paint had chipped or dulled from age. He would need to have someone touch it up. Perhaps he could ask Hayashi once the week was up. It would be better to have it done before then, of course, but it would be cruel to drag her away from the festivities. This was one of the few times in the year that the young could truly relax and enjoy themselves. The shoji had waited this long- it could wait a little while longer.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation before the burning coals, he lifted the kettle off its hook and poured himself a cup. The near-scolding tea helped to fight off the chill, at least.

His gaze shifted across the room to the ornate wooden stand where the Takamori sword rested. Its sheathe was bone white wood ornamented with teal-blue streams of water flowing the length of the sheathe. Kenji wondered if that ancient weapon could possibly still hold its edge. That was the legend he'd learned since he was just a boy on his father's knee. Dragonscale would be sharp a thousand years from now, and a thousand years from then. It did not rust or decay, as metal or mundane animal hide might. It was an odd gift the kami had given them. Why would the thing to seal a pact of nonviolence be a weapon- and one so potent? Kenji's father, Senshi, had always insisted it was not their duty to wonder about the kami's will. Theirs was merely to honor it until the end of days.

"Pardon me, master." A familiar, nasally voice dragged his attention back to the world around him. The source of the soft-spoken words had pushed one of the paper partitions aside and gave a deep bow of respect. It was Takamori Yoshie, one of Kenji's great nephews. The boy was here to provide any assistance Kenji may need throughout the day while Fumiko was out readying things for the festival. He was a few years older than Fumiko though he stood perhaps an inch and a half shorter than she did. The boy was as handsome as his father had been when he was the same age. Yoshie's smile was polite yet it did not reach his eyes- they were as cold as stones, ever evaluating and studying. They reminded Kenji of what a hawk looked like when it was hunting.

"Yes?" Kenji returned the smile with one of his own, broad and deep and filled with love. He loved his nephew as if Yoshie was Kenji's own son. Or grandson, he supposed with a grimace. He was getting too old.

"We have visitors. Would you like me to invite them in?"

Kenji gave several slow, deliberate nods. "Of course. And get me a few more cups, one for yourself as well. There won't be anyone in this house who doesn't have tea to warm themselves in this terrible cold."

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

@Supermaxx With a day to spare, here's one of two hunter twins dabs

Yoshino Denki

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name - Yoshino Denki Age - 25 and loving life Gender - The malest of males Occupation - Village hunter-gatherer (shared with Denji) - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Positively Entertaining Some might call Denki a positive person. Some might even call him a beacon of hope (because he sure will), but truth be told, he's someone who just knows how to have a good time. Whether this is cracking jokes with the other guys in the village (or whomever will listen), smiling and generally, enjoying himself, Denki is someone that has the tendency of looking at life through a much simpler, less chaotic and not as serious gaze. In his heart, there is the pain of feeling the pressure from his family and the hunter legacy, but he tries not to let it bother him. On days when he can prevent his demons from ruining his good mood, Denki tries to spread his unique brand of positivity (not to be confused with Haruhi who is her own brand of sunshine). Denki shows his light in a different way. He does it through vibes that are more about enjoying the moment rather than uplifting everyone by being in their face (Denki respects that approach more than anyone would know). But honestly, for him it's more about not being reminded of the harsh realities that come with being part of the Yoshino family and the legacy that comes with it. Chill as an autumn breeze Despite being one of two hunters for the village, Denki is someone who enjoys the little things in life. Maybe too much if you were to ask his younger twin brother, who always seems to be picking up his slack and catching just as much heat for it. He isn't irresponsible, but Denki has a philosophy in life. What point is there to do all you can to contribute to the development of the village if you can't enjoy it too?. This is a philosophy that always ends up being his excuse for the minimal amount of EXTRA work he takes on. Again he's not irresponsible nor would be seen as lazy. He lives for the moment and sometimes that moment is taking a nap in the fields. Keeping a brave face is hard There's a certain sadness to Denki. A self-criticizing, self-doubting mess that stems from the bad history and bad luck the Yoshino family has had for some odd reason. Pressure placed on them by mother and father because they were the first pair of twins in nearly a century, so the pressure added to always feeling like he failed his brother by not taking everything so seriously has taken its toll on Denki. He tries to brave it out. He tries to put on a smile and not worry those around him, but some days it is hard. Maybe this is why he enjoys the little moments in life, sniffing the flowers, taking naps in the fields, or taking leisure strolls through the village. Denki needs his space to think and center himself and he knows that can be viewed as him being "lazy", but it's the only thing he can do to ensure that his mind is at peace and he doesn't bring even more shame to the family. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Tracking Half a skill that all those in the YOshino family were taught and half a hobby of Denki's, he knows how to track. He might not be as skilled as his younger twin when it comes to tracking but that's mostly due to Denki's habit of being too laidback and not putting in all the work that he could. That being said, he's still fairly capable when it comes to tracking animals by their prints, the time of day, and he has a general knowledge of other things. It's just not as finely tuned as his brother's tracking abiltiies are. Archary Ever since he could, Denki has known how to weild a bow. He's been taught out to aim effectively, value accuracy over supposed "trick shots", though if we're being compeletely honest here, he's worked in some style with his accuracy. In addition to winning soem stylistic points within himself, Denki also knows where to aim just as much as he does how to aim. He has a good range when it comes to giving a swift killshot, as all hunter should be able to do. A mercy kill is a respectful kill and the hunters have been taught, above everything else, that the wildlife and those that they slay deserve respect. Level-headed There is something to be said about Denki's more lax approach on life. To be a hunter and tracker (and a rather effective one, at that) one must also be patient and know when the apt time is to take affirmative action. Denki being able to be composed for the most part and exercise patience is a skill that applies to his every day life just as much as it does when he's out in the land.

Physical Description Whether it's Denji or Denki, one can't deny that the Yoshino genes are rich with an aesthetically-pleasing face to behold. Sharply-angled jaws, crisp spikes in the hair, and equally as beautiful eyes to draw you in. In Denki's case, his looks differ just slightly from that of his younger twin's. Denki's hair is spikier and his eyes are golden like the rays of the sun above. Nobody can explain why he and his brother have different colored eyes. It could be due to their difference in personalities. Amber being a friendlier color than red, or it just might be one of those phenomeona that nobody can explain and it just is. As a hunter, while Denki stands at an average height of 5'8" (just like his brother), it should be assumed, as well as pointed out, that he boisters a signficiantly larger build than most in the village. This is mostly due to the fact that hunters are always on the go and need to remain as agile as their movements need to be. To do this, Denki can't allow himself to fall short of a strict exercise regime...though somehow he does. His skills, as well as his overall physique might be slightly inferior to his twin brothers. But where Denki might be slacking in the physical refinement of his build and skills, he more than makes up for it in being fashionable, something he personally believes his brother doesn't prioritize as much as he should. It's always "hone your skills, Denki. Stop slacking off, Denki". What about "dress for the job you want, Denji?" That's what he does. More often than not, he sports a red kimono with a blue bottom part tied together with white cloth. He has a few but that one is his favorite, seeing it as a bold statement. He has other kimono's for casual wear, but he just feels the most line himself in this one. It's very him. Relaxed but bold and vibrant. One might say it chose him rather than him choosing it...if you were to believe in that sort of thing - which Denki absolutely does! Character Conceptualization Life for the hunter family of Yoshino hasn't always been the easiest. Dating back a century, in this family of hunters, there's always been something of an emphasis on good luck and bad luck. Maybe it's just thier close relationship with the animals and the respect that one must have for them and life itself and that in itself has prompted the family to prioritize luck and prosperity above all else. It's hard to say, but what is known as a pure fact is that for the current generation of the Yoshino family, they brought good luck and fortune to the family. For so long, the Yoshino family had viewed twins as a symbol of good luck. To have two children at the same time was seen as the Kami looking down on the Yoshino family in favor and blessing them, but for several decades, the family heads were seen as cursed. Even if that wasn't even close to being true, the fact remains that they weren't blessed with twins for over fifty years until the twins, Denki and Denji were born. Things started to change. The outlook from their parents began to change. Positivity and prosperity was at long last feeling as though it wasn't just a hope but a reality. On Denki's side of things, no matter how it may have seemed from the outside, at a certain point, he began to feel crushed by the pressure laid on him by his father, the head of the family. His father had a brother, but when both Denki and Denji were five, he died. Denki didn't have many memories of his uncle that he could recall. Honestly, it became a blur after a while. He just remembered a man with chocolate-colored eyes smiling at him. Maybe it was that Denki wasn't as close to the man as he remembered. Not like his brother was. Denki is the first-born of the two. It's only by a few minutes, so it may not seem like an important deal, but according to their father, Haruto, it was. Even though the better hunter was his brother because Denki wasn't as hard-working as Denji was (or rather he always found himself preferring to nap or relax than put in the work), it always felt like he was pushed harder. Denki always tried to see the positive, though. He maintained it through adolescence and into his young adulthood. He became a respectable hunter in his own right, being able to be proud to be a Yoshino. But at the same time, he still felt the immeasurable weight that came with being the eldest brother of the current generation of hunters. Really, somedays it seemed like Denji was the older brother with how much of Denki's slack he made up for. Father really must prefer him over Denki. Yeah, that's definitely what it was. It was okay. Denki was okay with not being seen as the favorite. Whether he had his father's approval or not, honestly, didn't matter to him as much as it did when he was a young kid. What Denki wanted was to have his brother's respect and he liked to think he did. No matter how many headaches his twin got because of how many times he must've found him napping or relaxing when he probably should have been studying, Denki could see it in his brother's crimson-colored eyes. He was his twin brother for a reason. Those kinds of siblings were truly lucky to have each other. Their bond couldn't be tainted, not even by the demons in one's head. Other Information Denki is older than Denji by three minutes Loves anything mochi related and hates soba noodles Denki knows the signs Beckon, Quicken, and Reinforce. In his free time, Denki loves to take naps (usually in open fields or somewhere relaxing) and loves cloud-watching. He can do the latter for hours and never get bored. He's deathly allergic to red bean paste.

@Eyeshine

Half the twins are accepted!

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

---

As the sun rose across the western mountains of the Heiwadani Valley, a dove took flight from her nest. She soared above the treetops of the Mumbling Wood, where the Kodama were just beginning to shake themselves awake with the dawn. Frost covered their leaves, a final present from winter as it gave way to spring. Those tree spirits groaned out greetings to one another in a language more ancient than men. Other, smaller animals scurried from their dens to get an early start on the day's foraging. A pack of fūri- feline, monkey-like beasts with more arms than sense- leapt from branch to branch and cried out in voices eerily close to human speech if not for a certain, monstrous quality to them. The dove knew to keep well clear of the pack. It veered to north, where it joined briefly with a flock of other birds headed toward the mountains. There was safety in numbers, after all.

The dove broke off from the flock to crest the mountains, carried on wings that could not tire. It glimpsed the world beyond the valley, illuminated by the early morning light. The sight filled even its heart with an equal mix of awe and terror alike. It did not linger long to wonder at the world, however, for it saw something else that caught its attention. Far below it- where the mountains split and a pass descended into the valley- it saw movement. The dove descended to land on a nearby rock, watching with curiosity and apprehension alike.

"Finally." Ashida Katsuro muttered as he dismounted his horse. Hours of riding left his legs cramped and burning with exhaustion. He pulled off his helmet, his dark, sweat-slicked hair falling down the sides of his face. His jaw was covered in something too long to be stubble but too short to be a beard. His ears were bleary with a lack of sleep. It had been too long since he'd been to a proper barber, he noted with distaste. Too long since he'd slept. Too long since he'd been home. Katsuro let out a sigh and took a few moments to stretch on the cold, rocky surface of the mountain's 'road'- if one could even call it a road anymore. Its pavement was cracked and covered in holes deep enough to break a horse's leg if it misstep.

"Do you fair well, captain?" Another man asked as he walked up the road to stop beside Katsuro, who answered his concern with only a grunt. He was ten years Katsuro's junior, barely a man, yet their commander had insisted he ride with the company for this journey. He was Ogata Hotaru, a short, slender boy as pale as porcelain that might've been pretty if not for the horrific burn scar that covered the left side of his face. He looked away from the other man and down the pass, to the giant, red structure that dominated the pass. "This must be the gate of the gods..." He muttered, awestruck.

"The gates to hell, more like." A third voice rumbled as Onisawa Shigeru lumbered up beside them. He was an oxen of a man, taller than anyone else Katsuro had ever met and just as wide. His gut nearly burst out of his robes, and the leather straps of his hack-job plate armor looked ready to snap. He clutched a gargantuan war club in his right hand that no one else in the company could even lift, let alone swing. "I do not like this place, captain. Feels like my skin is crawlin' off my bones just standing here."

"I never knew you for a craven, Shigeru." Katsuro grinned up at the man. Despite the lightness in his tone, Katsuro understood what his second meant. Something about that gate made his heart leap up into his throat. There was power here, for a certainty. He took it as a sign that they were on the right track. With a heavy sigh he tied back his hair once again and slid his helmet into place. "Break the wards on that thing, Hotaru, and be quick about it. I want to make camp before midday. Half our warriors will be dead in their saddles soon enough."

The young Hotaru nodded solemnly and approached the gate, and the dove watched in abject horror as the boy's skin began to glow beneath his robes and the magical wards that had protected the valley for three hundred years dimmed for the first time. A column of mounted men in patchwork armor of leather lamellar and steel plates rode through the gate unopposed. The dove took flight with all haste away from that place, soaring through the pass and straight for the Mumbling Wood.

--

To the east of all this, in the center of the valley, the village of Heiseina began to awaken, slow and trepidatious as it was. Roosters call to one another at the coming of the sun. Villagers lit their lamps and rose from their beds to make breakfast. An old man, eyes still heavy and red, steps outside his door with a giant sack in his hands. Reaching within he produces a handful of roasted soybeans, tossing them out into the street in front of his house. A neighbor on the opposite side of the road chucks them from the safety of her window; perhaps never even leaving her bed at all. Just about everyone would join them soon enough- those with the common sense to understand the Yokai and the bad fortune they can bring down on the disrespectful.

"eight weeks," the old man grumbles, his voice like the rasp of rocks grinding against rocks, "eight more weeks of winter! Salt the shimmer, I told Takamori- told him that girl was no good."

A broom cracked him over the shoulder, causing him to shout in a mix of pain and surprise. His wife lowered it to the ground, still rubbing the sleep from her eye. "Pull the turds outta yer teeth. What if the lady heard ya gobbin' off? If she was willin' to do her own kin in-"

"Balderdash! T'was the hag that did them in. That dumb, poor girl couldn't get a tanuki to scratch its scrotum. We never had long winters when the shrine maiden was around. I remember this one autumn, perhaps twenty years ago, when..."

And on and on they went as Heiseina slowly, gradually dragged itself from its restful sleep and set about preparing for today's festivities. This marked the first day of a week long celebration of winter turning to spring, culminating in the Dance of the Serpent- when Miorochi is meant to awaken and take to the sky, tearing the cold from the air and begin the changing of the seasons. The week would see the village gathering to eat, dance, compete in games and go through all number of religious rituals to bring good fortune on the year to come. Broken relationships would be fixed, old enemies would make amends, and newborns would be blessed at Miorochi's shrine.

In honor of the occasion, all sorts of decorations were strung from roof to roof, up and around poles, or painted along the cobblestones of the road. Papers dragons were a common sight on top of other imagery of life and spring: colorful bundles of flowers were strung together, cornucopias of fruits and vegetables, and most common were the beans. Hundreds upon hundreds of roasted soybeans being scattered, eaten or spread to make crude shapes. Soybeans were thought to drive away the spirits that brought bad luck.

Unlit lanterns hang via strings running from nearby roofs to the radio tower in the town's central square. Inside them are some of the only electric lightbulbs in the entire valley, wired together and tracing down the tower's side and disappearing into a hole carved into the tinkerer's workshop. More unnatural light shines from behind the curtained windows and under the doorway. Keen watchers might have noticed a similar phenomena on their way home for the previous night's rest. It wasn't unheard of for Anayo to work all throughout the night, though never as often as over this last month.

Near to the shore of Kama's Lake, where the Takamori Estate stands tall and proud, its master meditates in the early morning light. Only one of his students managed to drag herself out here so early, though whether or not she was focused on her inner harmony or struggling to stay awake was yet to be seen. Kenji, despite his age, was as sharp and energized as either of his nephews or his niece. He'd already run the full length of the lake's walking path in the time it took most of the village to drag themselves from their beds. With slow, measured breaths, he took in the morning as he always did.

Yet Fumiko knew the old man well enough to know something was different today. There was an ever so slight tremble in his hands that he was trying and failing to calm. A deep furrow along his brow seemed to form and disperse every fifteen or so seconds, as if he had worries he could not quell. Kenji took a final exhale and let his eyes slide open so he could look to the horizon. Some imperceptible thing clouded his ordinarily cheery gaze, like a grey sky hours before a storm.

"How I wish I could remain in this moment forever." He muttered. His voice was a river, deep and meandering. "Time marches on, however, and there is much to do." He turned his head just so he could catch Fumiko's gaze. "And I'll be delegating a great deal of it to you, Fumiko. I hope you're up for it! Come, walk with me, and we shall talk." Kenji stood, beckoning her to follow him as he began to pace down the manor's steps and into the gardens that surrounded the estate.

"First we must ensure the noon performance is ready. I trust Miss Hayashi is prepared, but it is always best to double check." Kenji lifted a finger, wiggling it a bit- his usual sign to 'note that down' that he gave whenever he was delivering a lesson. "Head over to her abode and ensure everything is ready. Give her any help she needs setting up. She is the opening act of the day, so the tone must be just so. Even the slightest misstep could have disastrous consequences for the rest of the week's mood!" Perfection was impossible, yet always demanded- that was the Takamori code. Yet even as he spoke he seemed...distracted. His vision still clung to western mountains, where the sun rested atop those stony peaks.

Near silent paws patter up old stone steps. They stretch, turn and twist along the hill at the edge of town, passed small shrines covered in offerings, flowers and trinkets of all sorts. Those paws are quiet, yet they're quick-- quick as lightning. They bound up three steps at a time, nearly slipping on wet, broken stone in their hurry to reach the peak.

When the fox finally reached the hill's zenith, where an archway led into the shrine proper, it dropped what was in its mouth and began to make a racket. Its odd yips could almost be mistaken for language, but even as an animal the urgency in its noises could not be mistaken. When the shrine's cartaker finally emerged the creature nudged the object it had carried and dropped to the floor: a scroll case. Kitsune were said to be the messengers of the gods, yet...those were only stories for children. Myths passed down from the ages. In reality they were a bunch of aimless tricksters whose only purpose was to spread mischief...right?

But there was the scroll case. And inside, a message:

FOR YUKI'S EYES ONLY

HARMONY BROKEN
UNNATURAL AND VILE
THE IRON EYE COMES

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

No relation

_______________________________________________ // INFO P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S Full Name - 林純恋 (Hayashi Sumiko) Age - 22 Gender - Female Occupation - Traveling Artist - // PERSONALITY P E R S O N A L I T Y Passionate More than anything, Sumiko is able to pour her entire heart into things she cares about, be they projects or people. From her passion stems both diligence and confidence, as she works hard for results. Her passion is quite obvious when one views her work, and the individuals who have felt her helping hand directed at them say the encouragement can be intense. Pushy Sumiko really likes getting what she wants. Doesn't everyone? But at times she can be a bit forceful in pushing her ideas onto others. She even pushes herself to keep going at something futile, her perfectionist streak showing through. She does have a sense of pride that can prevent her from backing down as well. Free Spirit Since her "liberation" Sumiko has greatly enjoyed doing whatever she likes, whenever she likes. She keeps her options open, as being tied down to one place or idea doesn't suit her at all. Like anyone else she has her rough days, her arguments with others, but ultimately she tries to let everything slide off of her back. Forgive, live and let live. // SKILLSET S K I L L S E T Rhythm and Balance A self-proclaimed expert in traditional dance and hopping back and forth on stage, Sumiko has a very good sense of balance. She has a strong core and her coordination is top notch. She's dexterous and rarely fumbles anything, whether she uses her hands or her feet. Physical Artist Though performance is her greatest love, Sumiko is excellent at working with her hands. Her calligraphy is steady and smooth, her paintings and drawings are detailed and life-like, her pottery comes out even and clean, and of course she can read and write quickly. If you need something written or made for you, Sumiko is your girl - but she can be a perfectionist so it might be a bit of a wait. Persuasive Sumiko has a knack for roping others into doing what she wants. This isn't always aggressive badgering - in fact being a poet Sumiko can be quite cool with her words, and being an actor she can make anything sound like the truth. She doesn't go around lying to people though, that would be uncouth! Tt's just that she can be quite convincing. With some people after a conversation with her they end up running an errand and thinking it was their idea in the first place.

Physical Description Sumiko always stands out in the village due to her taste in clothing: elaborate and stylish. Of course the frames she wears over her eyes are no exception. Even if she didn't dress like that, her shockingly pale hair would make sure that one can always pick her out of a crowd. Her physical appearance is rather plain; her eyes are dull, she isn't the most busty or shapely of women nor is she that tall or short... but she does love to paint herself in varying degrees of make-up. This has the side effect of making her seem more attractive, but the enjoyment of making an art piece of her skin is why she does it in the first place. Although she tries to keep clean its very common to find her with ink stains on her hands, arms, and even her face. Character Conceptualization Painting! Poetry! Pottery! Dance! Drawing! Acting! Storytelling! ...stilling working on the music! Even small towns need entertainment, and Sumiko takes it upon herself to provide that. She's a "jack of all trades" type when it comes to the arts, with the notable exception of song and instrument. Please don't call her tone deaf though, she will vehemently deny it. She was born in Heiseina, her family the last of the dying Hayashi clan. Hers was an old family, once well respected in the valley, so it came as a shock when each passing year saw their prosperity dwindle. No one really knows what happened to the Hayashi family, though some claim that the family's head offended a spirit so badly that it cursed his line for generations. It would explain the sons' early deaths, the daughters' lack of vitality that presented itself through pallid skin and colorless features. Some subsequent family heads were obsessed with turning their luck around. Sumiko's father was one such person, but he died desperate for a son to carry on his name and ended up with two daughters. The clan's fate was sealed. His passing was a sad thing, but for his wife and children it was also a freeing experience. There was a certain liberation in knowing they didn't have to toil on behalf of a doomed family name any longer. Sumiko left Heiseina when she was barely old enough to travel on her own, exploring the valley they lived in and the small hamlets that surrounded it. She met many people and heard many stories - in order to commit them to memory she wrote them down. To keep herself occupied during trips she would doodle pictures to go with her writing. It didn't take long for her to fall in love with art. For her freedom came in the form of a song on the wind, or a brushstroke on canvas. Now, Sumiko is Heiseina's resident artist extraordinaire (self-proclaimed). She's also a decent source of news and gossip, bringing stories and paintings with her all over the valley. She travels very often, taking advantage of not being tied down to one place. When she returns to Heiseina she stays at her family home and mooches off of her more responsible and respectable elder sister. Their mother passed years ago, leaving the large, empty estate to the both of them. She always makes it back in time for festivals, where she insists that she put on the newest play she's written, play a role in local re-tellings of myths and legends, and participates in dance until she can barely move. Though she has a strong passion for all kinds of art, dance and Kabuki are one of her favorite pastimes, so when she can she goes all out. Lately, life in the valley has been slower than normal. There haven't been as many interesting stories to create art about, so Sumiko has been going out a lot more and pestering others in search of something to spark her creativity. Other Information She likes to drink, but can't hold her liquor The only Sign she knows is Wind Her eyesight has started to get worse

@Yankee

Sumiko is accepted! You can move her over to the character tab.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

<Snipped quote by Supermaxx>

Alright, gotcha. Lemme know if room opens up later on, yeah?

@Vertigo

Of course!

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

This looks awesome, definitely interested in making a character if there's still room!

@Vertigo

Hi! I appreciate the interest. Unfortunately I'm pretty much at my limit here haha, eight is a lot already and I have two players from the previous iteration that also expressed interest.

Heiseina: Memories Long Forgotten

@Mcmolly@Hero The smith twins are good to be moved over to the character tab!