CLOSED: T1 Freestyle, Khaos and Sin

[Sinolutam]

Skies of dark and dreary nature casting down the thin needles of wetness onto the ravaged and desolate landscape. Hard and rough earthen textures slowly becoming soft and mushy as father time spun the clocks forward, turning the simplest of land into a wet mess with a simple downpour. Such things would leave a crimson dye to the puddles forming, bodies of the deceased lying in the wet ground, sinking ever so slightly into the ground. The trail of fallen men easily able to traced back to single point of origin, which would be nothing more than a simple boy. Kimono of black coloration covered his body well, a single sheath lay upon the waist. Empty it was obvious that the Katana could be found in his own hand. Crimson liquids dripping off the tip like the leaky sink you just don't like.


The sword itself holding many secrets though none important as of yet as soon it found home within the sheath with a slow slide and click into place. The head slowly lifting to darkened, discolored clouds as deep blue irises gazed to their seemingly endless projection of sorrow. Locks of brown coloration usually of lighter color fell back as a darker shade when soaked by the droplets. Beating against the skin in a soothing way the excess amounts of liquid finding their way off the face by simply sliding down the cheek and dripping to the puddles bellow. Such a somber tone for today.

 

[Conquest]

★Those whom found themselves trapped by a calm gait would feel the intense presence's arrival. Oaken footing spread beatific ichor of those slain in cold blood, liquids affectionately licking upon the silver stave attributed to the young boy. Albeit longer than his own body it was as if his very soul intertwined with its own, causing a mastering byproduct. Vermeil orbs webbed in a hateful stupor; possible guileless painted metaphysics monochromatic to energies of vehement ire. Had sight not perceived sinful occurrences, onyx follicles wouldn't have shrouded a signature stare of undeniable choler, bringing forth a his own - terrible - lust for disgorged carnage. Moonlight foreshadowed a similar being in his way; without knowledge of origin rage had been omnidirectional, sorrowful liquids filled his eyes' cusp continuing to brew - awaiting for sweet release, in ways more than one.


Lithe limbs extended forth; causing a scintillation of ruby light's thrust through Stygian paint. Albeit Yariza Eita, a prodigy of Bojutsu and Sojutsu, remained erect in stature when golden pants, adorned with trinkets of all kinds, darkened. Ivory skin perverted by sheer cold, knees slightly stammering - hoping to go unnoticed - due to the kid with his back turned. Warmth only rested in the affectionate hold of the ebony mother that rubbed his wrists and shoulders, her touch extending as far as to press to his waist. Russet cords wrapped about his signature weaponry - the Yari - and a shortened blade with an umbrella hilt, fixated within black silk and pressing against his belt and shirt. With a singular pass of warm air he had reached nirvana for the shortest moment - interrupted only by the poisonous, iron dagger held by the links of his necklace, no thicker than an infant's thumb.★

 

[Sinolutam]

Ears caught wind of the soles kissing the wet textures, the body turning and shifting its position to the left. Facing the male all whilst being inches away from the original standing position. A stance taken, the right hand gripping the sheath and taking hold of it, the left hand hovering just over the Japanese Katana's hilt. Legs readied to which the right foot could easily take the leading step. The thumb placed just upon the rim of the guard, gently resting upon it no pressure given yet could be applied at any time, the classic Battojutsu stance taken by this male who had no name to call his own, the boy who was skilled in Battojutsu and Kenjutsu but has yet to master the arts would stand before his possible opponent in this stance. Sheath flipped in advance to where the dull side would be what is drawn.


He wanted to test the boy first. His reaction, his timing. He wanted to see for himself the skill, yet he would not make the first move. He waited. Waited for the time when the boy begun his own move. It would begin then. The sky roaring with their conviction's, booming with anticipation for what is to come. " ... "

 

[Conquest]

★A twist of foray carried ichor and bridling sorrow into the temple of the other child. Verily consciousness temporarily faded; leaving only the sleeping body of a one he'd proclaim as, ''Yujin". He'd wondered why the other did not block nor dodge albeit turn and face him, though while he was dragging his fallen foe through wet terrain, blood spattering on his figure, he'd found true nirvana in releasing all of his anger in one fatal blow. Consciousness awaited him with time, rebuilding and constructing itself while Yariza trained to face his friend upright.★


[[CLOSED]]