Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat. Jensen had focused his mind as his left hand fondled the hilt of his blade, Kanjo while his right hand kept a good hold of the scabbard's shaft. The flow of things had surrounded him, such as the pot-ground plants or the flicker of cloth from a nearby restaurant's tables. To his opposite, facing him, an opponent imitating the same maneuver as the two demonstrated the art of iaido. While the man in front of Jensen had beaming eyes towards his foe, Jensen had kept his closed. He was an artist of awareness, as well as a musician of the blade. Tilting the blade to aim past the man's shoulder, there was a double-flash along with sparks and a stream of blood. Jensen had aimed his blade just right, while the man felt his blade deflect from the swipe of the Drifter's. The man tumbled backwards, letting out a howl of pain before gripping his shoulder and dropping his blade. "GAH! Drifter, your blade is that of the demons!" Jensen stood, flicking the blood off his blade before pressing it against the scabbard's hole. Sliding upwards, he shifted his blade to sheath it, clicking it shut. Awaiting the man to stand, he looked down at the slowly forming pool of blood. "I am merciless to those who refrain from speaking to their blade; the only family most people have left and you ignore it."
The man looked at the Drifter with confusion, stumbling to his feet and writhing in pain. "But...I've respected my blade for all these years-" "WHAT is its name?" "What?" "What is the name of your blade?" "It....It has no name." Jensen looked at the man in disgust, as a crowd started to gather. Tilting his blade down, his face twisted with anger. "Worse than what I assumed, the lack of speech reverberating is because it has no soul - you have not taken the time to give it part of your's. Despicable." And in a flash, the ebony wood sliding from its scabbard and catching the unbalanced man by surprise, a trail of blood climbing up his body and splitting open the frontal part of his body. Ichor poured out from the wound, tearing the wind from the man's throat and a choking noise keeping him speechless. Falling to his knees, the man took his last gaze into Jensen's face before an arm extended from his abdomen and gripped the man's throat. Clenching harder, he brought his blade up before bringing it down and stopping just before contact. "You are to give up the life of a swordsman, keep these wounds as the reminder you need." releasing the man, he cast away his extra arm and sheathed his blade. Jensen turned and walked away, the stranger's blood filling in the lines of the cobblestone ground. Two blades rested on the ground, the Drifter picking them up and tying them with his first blade, creating a grouping of three blades. Wandering into a pub, he resumed casual life, taking on the persona of someone lacking hardship and filled with joy as he drank with those who populated the pub.
The man looked at the Drifter with confusion, stumbling to his feet and writhing in pain. "But...I've respected my blade for all these years-" "WHAT is its name?" "What?" "What is the name of your blade?" "It....It has no name." Jensen looked at the man in disgust, as a crowd started to gather. Tilting his blade down, his face twisted with anger. "Worse than what I assumed, the lack of speech reverberating is because it has no soul - you have not taken the time to give it part of your's. Despicable." And in a flash, the ebony wood sliding from its scabbard and catching the unbalanced man by surprise, a trail of blood climbing up his body and splitting open the frontal part of his body. Ichor poured out from the wound, tearing the wind from the man's throat and a choking noise keeping him speechless. Falling to his knees, the man took his last gaze into Jensen's face before an arm extended from his abdomen and gripped the man's throat. Clenching harder, he brought his blade up before bringing it down and stopping just before contact. "You are to give up the life of a swordsman, keep these wounds as the reminder you need." releasing the man, he cast away his extra arm and sheathed his blade. Jensen turned and walked away, the stranger's blood filling in the lines of the cobblestone ground. Two blades rested on the ground, the Drifter picking them up and tying them with his first blade, creating a grouping of three blades. Wandering into a pub, he resumed casual life, taking on the persona of someone lacking hardship and filled with joy as he drank with those who populated the pub.
Last edited by Jensen on Tue Jan 13, 2015 4:20 am; edited 1 time in total