The road proved rather foreboding, the lack of clemency wrought by the elements and unkempt wilderness, proving the bane of even the most seasoned traveler. Yet as weary feet traversed the tortuous lonesome road, sandals caked in the dirt from her travels. The lush green atmosphere waning, as the shade of oak slipped over lissome form, the kitsune's fleshy vessel adorned in a black and white kimono of silk, embellished by a golden clasp that held her cloak over that figure. Wild cherry blossom mane dancing in the wind, as foliage rustled ever so blissfully. The illusion of respite, tranquility, and complacency washing over her, yet the fox would not succumb. The world was an uncongenial place, and though she was far from the rolling bleached gnolls of her motherland.The influence of the insipid and nefarious wills at work, all too prevalent to justify dropping her guard. That jug of sake, clashing against wide hips, as a mechanical limb spewed a stream of hot exhaust. The sound of gears ticking, juxtaposed marvelously with the ambiance that is the orchestra of the birds graciously provided. Their song is harrowing, flooding the vexed mind with memories of old. The hoarse whisper of steel, grinding against steel, cries of the damned, and the smell of ash teasing those keen senses. War, the glory she panted for never quelled, instead only suffering the loss of flesh.
Yet despite paying her pound, the mind seemed less resilient. Beads of sweat running down the unfurled brow, as a crimson pool peered up into the crisp cerulean skies. The shadow of oak and the occasional passing cloud provided a sense of placidity, allowing the fox to regather herself. The appreciation for the quotidian rarely exerted, yet when one needed it most, it’s intrinsic value was brought to the forefront. The exasperation of her mental being faltering, as it slipped into torpidity, as senses returned to the real world. Heavy sigh parting from luscious lips, as gloved palm extended outward, brushing against the foliage hugging the side of the dirt road. A contract just fulfilled, the insatiable need for coin and blood while not quenched, was for the moment kept at bay.
A bag was slung around her shoulder, bouncing against the back. As within the leathery container, was the proof of her kill. She approached the distant town, the settlement rising above the horizon's influence. Meandering across the scene, as jubilantly took hold of a once heavy heart. Stride reflecting the shift in emotions, as the fulfillment of her art, always managed to bring a smile on that scarred visage. Somber, the kitsune samurai, the blood fox, the mistress of the cherry blossoms, was no sociopath.
Her contentment earned, birthed not from the gratuitous slaughter and expiration of life. Rather, from her point of view that malicious monstrosities of the realm had been thwarted, though death was inevitable for all, it had been repelled this day. Stepping through the gaped maw of the town, these flaccid walls brittle, proving to ward off the wolf at the gate, but the security was an illusion. This much was clear, as the guards frantically patrolled the cobbled streets, as the fox weaved in between the crowd. Her eye drifted to the bazaar, various fragrances, and trinkets on display, as well as the bewitching aroma of freshly sizzling grilled meat.
The temptation would be avoided, there would be a time to feast and be jovial, but first, she had to fulfill her end of a bargain. Stepping beyond the bazaar, she would squeeze between a tight alleyway, sandwiched between heartless stone walls. The smell of vice, the unmistakable musk of turpitude teasing nostrils, as nose instinctively wiggled with repugnance. The swarthy shadow it cast, proving unsettling yet unironically welcoming. Now standing at the end of the taut passage, eye narrowing as she adjusted the kimono covering her vestige. The flesh embellished by the scars of yesteryears conflicts, the purging of fault through the inferno that was the fray.
Missing limbs, burn marks, and gashes all serving to weave a beguiling story upon the tapestry that was the monster hunter. Tantalizingly drawing the ire and intrigue of a few inquisitive, prying eyes. Though such thoughts maintained obfuscated by the sound of silence. The cacophony of hooves galloping about, as the alien garbed woman was forced to wait for the passing carriage. Eyes were rolling as a hand rested against the hip, mechanical clockwork leg tapping against the stony earth. Once the transport had passed, the kitsune would walk across the road.
Making her way toward the establishment as per their contract. Glove covered hand reaching for the knob of brass, grasping it firmly, as she twisted it. The door opening, creak flooding the room, as ambient light, and the outside kerfuffle reverberated from within the vestibule. Stepping beyond the threshold, securing the wooden barrier behind her, as feet pressed onward. The worn wooden floorboard was bending under the influence of her waltz. The fluidity of her training on display, but only toward the keenest of observers.
Parading across the scene, as the idle bantering of the other patrons and their squabbles proved of little import for the moment. Stepping toward a booth occupied by a nobleman, as she would place the bag on the cloth-covered table. The two staring at one another, the man was taken a bit back by her unique appearance. When he contracted the blood fox, it was via a proxy, serving as a mediator to gauge if she were the type to strike one down and rob them of their hard-earned coin. “It is done then?” He questioned, his voice a bit jolted by her brutish approach and barbarous tactic. Still, he couldn’t deny the efficiency of her mannerism, albeit a bit uncivilized for his refined palate.
“Aye, take a look if you don’t believe me? Either way, the coin.”
Hand stretching forward, motioning for the smug lord to part with his currency. The man opened the bag, peering in as he gagged, skin flushing a ghostly pale at the sight of the macabre ghoulish display of severed head. Fumbling about as his hands trembled, dropping the pouch of gold on the table as he would walk away, regurgitating within a nearby container, eventually stumbling out of the quaint establishment.
"Hey! You forgot your head!”
She teased, lips bending into a coy smirk, as eyebrows fanned upward. Shoulders were shrugging, swiping the bag of wealth, as it was placed between her bosom for safekeeping. The blood from the decapitated remnant staining the table, as she walked away, no longer seeing it as her problem nor mess. Moving across the scene, roosting on a vacant booth as she waited to be served, her feet sore, deprived of rest, reveling in this fleeting moment.
“Nobles, always preferring the story of the great hunt, the regal warrior, romanticizing it like a princess does her prince. Yet, when the reality is on display, they shrivel away with disgust like a privileged little bird, who had spent its entire life tucked away in a cage, protected from the predators. As their wealthy owner feeds it, the finest seeds of the land. Gorging themselves fat on their wasteful excess, blissfully unaware of the reality of the adventure they lust for, let alone the world beyond their prison. Never gets old…never loses its flavor.”
Musing to herself, grinning as she craved her poison, anything to silence the maelstrom of cries circulating within that skull of hers. Their melancholy tune anything but reassuring, depression setting in, a limerick she knew all too well, her somber song.
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