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 Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 10:13 pm
My name is :: Jayoku, Xie Zhi & Guo Yan I was referred by :Orpheus Solon:This is my Story :
Old Name Xei Zhi
New Name: Wei Wu
The meaning behind the name:
Wei - Power and stregnth
Wu - military
Gender: Male
Scent: Burnt Ash
Lotus color White with black smears of ash across the petals and leaves or just ..various shades of gray.
Old Appearance:
Xei only lived till he was twenty-one as he was drafted into the military at a young age. Due to rigorous training he was average height for a male, and was medium build before death and short tied up black hair. He wore traditional army garb. His hair was long though always kept in a braid to keep it out of his face.
Xei was often seen carrying around a prototype for a gunpowder weapon (as some idea) and it was his units job to take down the mounted and heavy armored enemies.
New Appearance
Given a new name and a new chance at life Wei will grow into a more lithe form of his prior self. Being fed better and not constantly stressed and going to war he will have more muscle toning in his body. As his guardian is a Monk, he has adopted the style of clothing preferred for their teachings, though has not yet taken up Buddhism or shaved his head, instead his head is tied in a top knot for practicality. Strangely his hands had flecks of what looks like an old healed burn wound on them, as well as half of his face.
Brief Life History:
Born a humble peasant he was drafted into the military and a young age. Determined to survive and come back to honors his village as well his family name, Xei managed to survive many years and several wars before he was killed by a mounted cavalry charge by the enemy. His weapon ready to bring down the war horse, the gunpowder weapon backfired on him. Causing a large explosion which sent the horse in a panick throwing its rider as well trampling Xei's leg. Unable to get up or away and suffering severe burns on his face, hands and arms Xei was quickly disposed off and his body became just one of many others in the funeral pyre.
The Guardian
Name: Guo Yan
Occupation: Buddhist Monk
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Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2012 11:04 pm
Post 1
~ There is a crack like thunder which charged the air, a cloud of grey mists materialized in a matter of moments after the sound echoed before fading away. Emerging from it was a figure which glowed a faint blue....a male strode forward and you could almost hear the sound of cannons coming from where he had come from. As the grey clouds swirled around him, he looked around a helm obscuring most of his face, the young man was dressed in military garb, right down to the boots, his weapon of choice a old fashioned gun powder weapon which rested on his shoulder.
The man looked...confused as he shifted and removed his gun from its position and held it between his hands. A breath was exhaled, his shoulder's straightening as he went in search of something in a bag that was attached to his belt. Pulling out a ragged cloth he went to sit down, oblivious to those around him as he went about polishing the rather outdated weapon. Going through a ritual as he checked to make sure it was dry and that it was functional. There was another pause, before he went to stand, and go through the motions of practice. Standing...kneeling, lighting, the jerk of recoil from the weapon as it released the shrapnel forward.
All was silent as he did this, as if sound dared not intrude on his moment of intense focus. Whatever it was he was looking at was beyond what anyone else could see, a target? A person? His gaze was one that was hardened from countless battles..hundreds of deaths by his hand, wha would it take to snap him out of this state? ~
Post 2
~ The man continued to work through his regime, it would seem that he could go through the repetitive steps for hours, either oblivious to those who were living, or unaware that he was dead. You could not see his feet, as his body seemed to fade away at that point, but on his hands there were white patches that almost seemed like they were on fire. Perhaps this was how he had died, burned alive.
Upon closer inspection you could see that his armor was well worn, some parts were concave as if something very blunt and powerful had come across it. Even this seemed to be of no consequence to the young man, until the routine was finished and he went to sit down. The blunderbuss was placed on the ground, the end still smoking from the recent practice. Removing his helm the same white fire on his hands seemed to transfer onto parts of his face, obscuring some of his features though revealing the studious gaze as he went about removing the rest of his armor and proceeded to oil the leather straps and bindings. He didn't seem perturbed by the dented metal in fact even as he polished the metal scaling, his hands moving around the ...rather half moon circles that had been crushed inwards his hands only trembled slightly.
A collection of hoof beats echoed, spawning from the beat up armor itself, a horses scream. The only blunt object that had come across the ratty attire was that of the sharp impact of a horse's hooves, one thousand pounds of weight being thrown against it. The sounds echoing around him received no reaction, could he not hear it? The screams of a horse's in pain? The shouts of men in panic? Apparently not as the young man continued to go through cleaning up his armor, unable to repair the damage dealt to it, but also making no effort to fix it. ~
Post 3
~ Repairing the armor seemed unnecessary as the ghost of a man went about putting each piece back on his body. His attention seemed to be turned to his weapon, the blunderbuss looked as if smoke still rose from the barrel, he reached down to pick it up, looking the weapon over with a manner that spoke experience. The weapon was strange, almost foreign with an iron barrel that led down to a wooden shaft. It needed flint and gunpowder to work, and despite having both these items in his satchel when he had been practicing earlier no spark or flame could be seen lighting the weapon.
Was this man...just going through the motions? Was this what he had bred for? War? No there was something wrong, he didn't appear of any warrior stock, in fact he was rather skinny, as if underfed for several campaigns. Placing the weapon at his shoulder the ghost looked around as if looking for someone, moving with purposeful strides he approached a tree before saluting to it and shifting his weapon accordingly.
Questions about the days training came forth, his voice was strong, though had a hallow ring about it. There were no questions about...the enemy he seemed to know his role well and after a moment of silence, the tree was not about to respond to the man, the ghost saluted before turning and returning to his starting place. There was a moment before the ghost seemed to....return to his training. Almost as if he was stuck in an infinite loop, doomed to repeat the meticulous routine for the rest of his ghostly life. ~
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 10:09 pm
Post 4
~ The ghost stood, then knelt looking down the barrel of his blunderbuss before going through the motions of firing it. There was a moment where time seemed frozen, the young man's gaze widened slightly as he seemed to register that something was wrong. Checking his weapon over he went to fire it again. There was no blast...no fire...but smoke definitely was drifting heavily from the barrel. Confusion crossed his features, what had caused him this time to notice that there was no sound? No explosion of fire?
Baffled the ghost went to sit on the ground, checking the weapon over before seeming to forget what he was doing. Getting back up he continued with his practice unconcerned once more that his weapon was uttering no sound. Going through the motions he finished practice before moving to look after his armor. Removing everything, oiling the leather and when it came to buffing the scale mail, he noticed the crushed parts of the armor. Surprise filled his face as he went to inspect it in detail, but even this seemed to ..become unimportant as he returned to his work before placing the gear back onto his body.
Back to his blunderbuss he picked the weapon up...and..dropped it as is it burned him. The muzzle looked wrong...very wrong. The barrel was nearly shredded and twisted from what looked like an explosion from the inside. The ghost looked at the weapon laying on the ground...hesitated and then returned to practice. ~
Post 5
~ It was obvious as the ghost continued that his routine was started to degrade. A stumble here, a moment of confusion before shakily returning to what he was doing. The blunderbuss was still a wreck, his armor was losing its shine, in fact it was starting to look very worn, with smudges of black soot and blood.
As the ghost attempted to go through the regime of cleaning his armor, the alarm on his face grew when he discovered he was unable to clean it. In fact those dents he had ignored before were immediately in focus now. Fingers ran over the grooves slowly, deliberately as if trying to recall where they had come from. Numerous battles were flashing behind his eyes, as battle wounds came to the forward but none of them explained the marks.
Shaking visibly he stopped rubbing and finally returned to replacing the armor on his body. Like a man who was on his last shreds of sanity he went back to his routine, but even as he went to raise the blunderbuss he gave a start noticing the white flames on his hands. Dropping the weapon with clattered noiselessly to the ground he stared at them.
A passing monk paused, he had come to enjoy the festival but seeing this ghost...lost..scared and confused he had stopped, pondering a quiet moment, watching and observing the ghost before making a move. ~
Post 6
~ It was as if time had frozen. The monk watched as the ghost stared at his hands for what most of been an eternity for the poor dead soul. The Buddhist monk arms in his sleeves approached the man slowly, a rice hat lightly on his shaven head as he carried hardly any possessions on himself. Bending over he observed the shattered remains of the blunderbuss, a strange weapon to his wise eyes, unfamiliar a new weapon of war it seemed to him. A shame that this boy had died in the name of a Emperor...a wasted life in the name of power, wealth and land.
A weathered hand reached out to touch the weapon, as if hoping to gain more knowledge of how it was used by grasping it. Fingers passed through it, the weapon turned to smoke wafting away as if a wind had disturbed it's image and it didn't truly exist in the first place. Looking up the ghost seemed to have broken out of his trance, his gaze instead turning to the monk who had banished his weapon to the nether.
There was only silence between them, as the man seemed to finally register something besides his weapon in this plane of existence. It was as if the weapon had been the key to lock him in his infinite routine of duty, even beyond the grave. The monk rose slowly to not startle the ghost who's eye's were so wide it seemed they would never blink again.
"Earth and metal, although your breathing cease, time and tide go on." Guo Yan spoke slowly, his voice deep and almost gravelly as if it had hardly been used. ~
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Posted: Wed Nov 28, 2012 12:15 am
Post 7
~ It did not matter what his life had been, the countless horrors that he had seen or what loyalties where demanded of him anymore. For his body was somewhere else, perhaps already picked cleaned by the scavengers, black winged birds growing fat with each bloody clash.
The monk and the ghost, their eye's met a silent understanding passing between the two, the man clad in his dented armor collapsed to his knees. A man who was more shattered than the weapon that he had held before it had been whisked away by the wind. Wrapping his transparent arms around his body as if noticing a unshakable chill. Guo Yan moved to stand beside the ghost, his hand lightly laying against his incorporeal back as if there had been something solid to rest against.
Moving slowly the ghost went to move his hands to lift the helm off of his head, in his line of sight the piece crumbled into dust, whisked away by an invisible wind claiming it the same way as the blunderbuss. Reaching out, a hand to try and catch the last grains of ghostly dust it met only thin air. The ghost shivered and the monk's hand past through his form.
"The sound of drums...call for my life, I turn my head..to where the sun is ..about to set." The ghost spoke his head turning away from where the monk stood...to where the sun would set in the west, but there was only the festival happening, the moon had risen long ago and waned full in sky. ~
Post 8
There is no Inn on the way to the Underworld." Guo Yan spoke continuing the next line quietly his head turning to look up at the same moon. The ghost who sagged now to the ground, his armor breaking into small pieces and crumbling away to reveal a thin and haggard young man dressed in thin robes that could barely conceal the lithe form. Muscle on his arms were tight a spattering of scars littering across them, a detailed recollection of his life with each scar.
Long black hair tied in a tight braid laid against his back the ends frayed from age. The man had not shaven...his face looking older than it really was and yet fragile ...when all hiss armor had vanished from his body. Hands clutched at his thin clothes, nails that would of dug into skin if there were any there betrayed his fear.
"At whose house should I sleep tonight?" Came the empty voice of the man who still sat on the ground finishing the death poem and looking less a man and more a shell of one as each moment passed.
Death. So final a destination. For a man who had lived his life for duty, for honor and now...a lost soul who had lost his way to the after life.
Gou Yan removed his hand from the temporal form of the young man and looked down at him. A expression of sadness crossing his features for no soul should be lost as this one. Fate had been cruel and unkind to this man.~
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