To Become a Corpse

The Trials and Tribulations of an Onna-bugeisha

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Hesh
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To Become a Corpse

Post by Hesh » Tue Jun 11, 2019 2:26 am

Taijuitsu Training #1 & #2.

Mai stood in a clearing, her haori tossed unceremoniously onto the ground beside her. The gentle, cool breeze of an otherwise hot day in the Land of Tea was the only sound that could be heard. The swaying blades of grass the only movement as the young onna bugeisha stood still. A simple log was standing before her and multitudes of others dotted the field that she stood in. Silent, still as a corpse, Mai stood ready. Her right hand upon her father’s sakabato, her left, holding the sheath. Her right foot ahead of her left. Only her hakama moved with the wind until the caw of a crow split the silence of the field. Mai’s eyes flicked open at the sound, her right hand moving at blinding speed as she drew her father’s weapon. Her right foot stepped forward as she drew the sakabato, and, with a mighty kiai, the sakabato struck against the log in front of her. Even the blunted sword gashed the log before Mai as she stepped back and sheathed her blade. Stepping forward, Mai inspected the cut she had just made on the log, deeper than the last, she noted, but still nowhere deep enough to cut through the log before her, nor to continue on through the others dotting the field around her. Sighing, she fell back onto the ground in a moment of grumpiness. Why had her father left her blunted swords? The sword was meant to kill, a sword like this would not kill any danger that the young onna bugeisha faced. If she didn’t get stronger she’d never be free. She’d never be able to return home again until she was stronger, and this log was just the beginning of what she knew she would have to be able to do.

Screaming up into the sky, Mai jumped to her feet, readying herself again to strike. If only she had a real katana, she thought. If only this blade was sharpened as it was meant to be, then she would be stronger. She would be strong enough to cut through this log, no through every log, and if she could cut through a log, she could cut through anything. She’d never be attacked again. Breathing out slowly, closing her eyes once more, Mai readied herself in her stance. Once again, her body seemed to stop moving, only a slight rising and falling of her chest an indication that she was in fact human and not a statue. With a blur, Mai drew her blade once more, striking the tree fluidly before returning her sakabato to its sheath. Once again the strike fell short of cleaving the log in two; once again, she only showed herself that she was weak. In disgust, at herself, her father, her sword, Mai tossed the sheathed blade upon the ground next to her wakizashi and haori, and squatted down, grabbing a gourd and popped the cork off of it. Turning it up, allowing the golden liquid to pour out into her mouth, Mai drank long and slowly before stopping the gourd once more and allowed herself to fall onto her ass from her crouched position.

Fumbling through her haori, pulling out her pipe and a small bag of herbs, Mai packed it tight, and, with a quick strike of flint against steel, she had it lit. Sitting in the grass, slowly puffing on her pipe, Mai stared at the log in front of her. What was it that her sensei always said, she tried to remember. Holding the pipe in between her teeth, the young onna bugeisha grabbed her wakizashi, assuming the same stance as before just closer. She couldn’t blame her father’s sakabato if she couldn’t do it with the wakizashi. If she couldn’t do this, then she could only blame herself. She could only blame herself for her weakness, for what happened to her, for her inability to stay still, and her inability to feel calm. Breathing slowly, Mai kept her eyes trained on the log before her, and with a blur of movement from her whole body, the wakizashi was drawn and in a gleaming bright arc of sun and steel the blade cut into the log from the left. It cut into the log and continued through until the resistance of wood ended, and Mai lost her footing, tumbling onto the grassy earth, narrowly avoiding cutting herself with the wakizashi.

Jumping to her feet, Mai closely inspected the log for every detail of her latest strike. A deep gouge existed in the log now, not only deep, but also travelling through the entire log and coming out on the other end. Squealing with joy, Mai jumped up and down. She had done it. She cut the log all the way through. She wasn’t weak, she just needed a real katana and not the defective sakabato her father had left before she was born. “No wonder Mother talked of him,” Mai said to herself, smiling from ear to ear as she pressed her foot against the log and pushed it over, “He was a fool who thought a peaceful show sword would save him from danger.” Turning from the now fallen log, Mai grabbed her haori, slipping it over her shoulders. “Although, I guess if this were a real fight, I’d be dead since I fell,” she said to herself as she then grabbed her gourd and tied the string around her sash. “Maybe I should continue to use the sakabato. What was it that Sensei said?” Mai continued to herself as she reached down and grabbed the sakabato, holding it before her, “A tree is felled by a thousand cuts, not one?” Mai sighed as she attached her sakabato to her sash, “Yeah I think that’s what it was.” Looking back at the logs surrounding her, and the one that she had cut through now laying on its side, Mai smiled. She would continue again tomorrow, and tomorrow she would succeed.

Mai crossed the field back towards the small village she was staying in, walking along the path she saw an elderly man walking slowly with a cane. Stooped back, and uneven gait told Mai that he was injured; yet, as she approached closer, her pace clearly outshining the old man’s, she noticed he was dressed similarly to herself. He wore an oversized haori that was clearly old and tattered, his hakama frayed at the ends, and a tightly pulled kimono covering his chest. At his waist, hung the two blades of a daisho, and Mai knew that this old man was once a samurai. Now probably retired and living his twilight years in this small village, and his injury was probably some old war wound he received. As Mai caught up to the old man, she bowed towards him, “Hello sir,” she said as she offered the elderly man her arm, “May I assist you?”

The old man looked up at Mai, smiling sweetly at the young woman and took her arm, wrapping his through hers, “Thank you dearie, you’re too kind to an old man like me.” Mai simply smiled back at the old man and began to help him down the path, “What’s your name, dearie? I’m Himura.”

“Oh, I’m Miyamoto Maiko, Himura-sama, just a travelling onna-bugeisha seeing the world away from her home village.” Old people never scared Mai, her sensei was old, and he was always kind, as well as every other elder she had met. It seemed with age, the lustful temptations of man died down, and they were a purer folk. A fact that Mai had come to enjoy since leaving her home village; it was a small solace that Mai had found to trust in during her travels.

“Oh I saw, Miyamoto-san, these old, slow legs let me enjoy the sights as I walk and it was refreshing to see such a young woman train so diligently. Though tell me, what was frustrating you so? Perhaps an old, retired samurai can help the next generation of our land’s soldiers and protectors.” The old man was kind and engaged, his grey eyes sparkling with joy as if this were the first real conversation he has had in some time.

“Well, my father left me his daisho before he left my mother and I, and my mother gave it to me when I left my home, but the katana is reversed. The blade cannot cut even the thinnest bamboo stalk, and I’m determined to train until I can. This blade is my only defense, and it is useless.”

“Are you sure about that, Miyamoto-san? Would you call a fish that cannot fly useless? Or a bird that cannot breathe underwater? I wouldn’t. Everything has a purpose and your sakabato has one as well. Your father would not have left it for you if he didn’t have a reason.”

“But a sword is meant to kill, and a swordswoman is meant to use that responibly, how can I protect with a blade that cannot cut, Himura-sama?”

The old man chuckled at that and patted young Maiko on her hand, “I will show you young one. Come with me,” he said as they reached the village and he led her towards the village’s modest dojo. They both stepped inside, slipping their sandals off and bowing to the statue of the Western god of Vrashni, and the old man muttered a quiet prayer, “Death, welcome us peacefully, and let us pass on as we lived, humble and strong.” Then he turned to Mai, stretching himself out and stepping onto the slatted wooden floor of the dojo, “Come now, Miyamoto-san, let an old man show you how your sword will serve you.”

Mai stepped up on the floor behind Himura, the old man losing all sense of frailty that he had shown while the two walked. He stood opposite of Mai, facing her and bowed, “You say the sword is a tool of killing, and this is true. The life of a samurai is a life of killing. But, it is also a life of protecting.” Himura said as he bowed toward Mai, and Mai returned the bow. The two took a ready stance, and Himura continued, “A samurai who only focuses on killing is a failure, while a samurai who wholly focuses on protecting is a savior. Now tell me, can your sword protect?” And, with that, the old man sprung into action, rushing towards Mai as he drew his sword from its sheath, slashing towards her with a horizontal arc.

Mai stood still at his approach, pulling her sakabato free as he approached, catching the old man’s blade and deflecting the blow. “Good good, Miyamoto-san. Now your blade may not cut, but it will protect, and just as the nunchuck doesn’t cut it can harm,” he said, blades still locked in their embrace before pulling back. “Now, come at me, don’t worry, you won’t hurt an old man any more than I have been before,” he finished with a smile on his face.

Mai resheathed her blade and stood still for a moment, her eyes reading the situation, her body readying itself. In a blink of an eye, Mai burst forward, and with a twist of her hips at the last moment, she built up strength in her draw, and her sakabato came out of its sheath at an upward angle, crashing against the man’s sword in a block, yet she quickly slid her blade along his before reversing the motion, bringing the sword down against the man’s thigh eliciting a yelp of pain. “You see, young one? If this were a real battle, you would have just gained the advantage. You could continue the assault and your opponent would be reeling back and on a limp leg at that.” Himura bowed to Maiko after sheathing his blade and resumed his hunched pose he had when Maiko had first met him, “Now help an old man down, and remember, your blade is powerful, more powerful than that of a sharpened one because your blade allows you to protect without having to kill. Remember that Miyamoto-san, for you are too young to have the guilt of another’s life on your mind. I’m sure that is why your father left you this blade, to protect those who need it, not to kill those who deserve it. Be the protector you are, and leave the thoughts of death for those who are less pure than yourself.”
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Miyamoto MaikoTea Country RoninD-RankTo Become A Corpse

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