[col]Matsu had a bit of a spat with his cousin. Well, he spat in the direction of his cousin and belittled him because he felt slighted. All his life he felt like his family wouldn't take him seriously. Why would they? He had been mutilating himself from a young age. That was just indicative of mental illness. He never let it hold him back. He was empowered by it. The clarity was there for him. He could see the truth. Regardless, he had been purged of something vile in the world below. Further more, upon having entered the hall his hammer had smashed his ancestral blade into shards. Those shards now sat in his workshop near his anvil. He frowned and collected his things from this space. It would be for someone else in time. He was going to go down to where he assumed many other crafters would exist. Down he would go, casting off and thoughts or worries he may have once had.
Here in the darker reaches, Matsu would remove himself from the accursed sunlight above. While he had thought it was something he wanted, similar to many things, he realized he wanted nothing more to do with it. Now he would exercise his strength over the earth, pulling the heat of the world itself up to fuel his forge. Great basins of water would be filled and made. Steam would rise and the room would be similar to a geothermic sauna. Now that his new space had been forged, Matsu would sit and breathe it all in. Fusen watched curiously from the ceiling, basking in the heat that was this work space. As many of his kind, he needed to be bathed in the heat and would swim in the magma if he felt fit. For now, Fusen would simply watch and observe his companion.
Sitting quietly in the heat, Matsu sat cross legged in the nude. His body was bare of tattoos. Sweating, he simply breathed. He wanted to forget. He wanted to purge those final, terrible thoughts. He wanted, possibly, to be a better person. After what felt like ages, he would lift hismelf from the floor and move to his door, locking it from the inside. "Friend. I will have you go and collect materials as I require them. Please do this for me." The lizard would nod and scutter off, knowing of the initial wants its companion desired. From there, Matsu would raise his massive hammer and begin to work on the shards of his previous sword, Draughtbane, to bring it forward as something new.
Thankfully the screaming had stopped in his mind. For once he might be able to perceive things clearly. Now was the time to forge himself into the perfection he wished to be. He, himself, would be the canvas for his art. Having smashed, pounded, and ground the feathersteel glass down he would begin to make his inks. Using a similarly crafted needle and raw leather mallet, Matsu would begin to dip the needle into the ink and press it upon his flesh. With a tap - tap - tap of the hammer upon the back of the needle, ink would pierce below the upper layers of his skin and embed the ink deeper within to retain the patterns. Countless hours would be spent pulling up valuable materials to be ground down and blended into inks to be infused into his being. As his cousin had requested, Matsu was layering power within his very flesh by infusing the tattoos as if they were seals. Through his process, Matsu's desire for bloodshed would slowly fade away. It was impossible for him to tell long this process took. His need to commit violence waned. He cared far less for the things he once held sacred. Was this the toxic influence of the evil god he had so foolishly trusted and misidentified? Choking away the sadness and dismissing the pain he'd caused others as he grew, Matsu endeavored on to tattoo his body once more. Unlike before, the seals were layed within the ink and art was the paramount expression. Words, as they were, simply would not for this new round of tattoos. Swirling, hypnotic patterns similar to tribal blocking or geometric expressions and coupled with traditional Japanese waves were built into his flesh. These scenes would solidify upon him with no real story to tell. They were practical.
Fusen would regularly arrive with more materials. Feathersteel glass by the cart full. How this small, dog sized lizard was able to procure such things was beyond him, but it did not matter. Carnosaurs would likely leave lizards alone. They had no reason to fight. This would benefit Matsu in his dealings to make himself a better person, physically and mentally.
After countless hours pressing ink into his flesh, Matsu was ready. Focusing his energies on his bare feet and the area around him, he began to shift the very world around him to pull minerals out of the earth and into his body. Featherglass would flourish from his frame, encapsulating his toes and glistening across his skin similar to how one would wear sandfish. With tiny, sharp barbs lining his body, Matsu would strike against the air performing Kata he thought he had long forgotten. Step by step, his body would dance and swim through the open space of his forge. He would ride the line of the magma, squelching pools, and traipse about kicking and striking at imaginary targets. Finally, as his Kata ended, Matsu would slam his heel into the earth. Tremors would pulse from his foot as his hands worked through seals to send the earth under foot to do his command. Rows of sharp rocks would erupt, gnash, and grind up against a wall before becoming flush once more.
Breathing heavily as chakra flooded from his body, Matsu would begin to tap into his physical reserves. While physically resilient, he would need a deeper reservoir of spiritual energy were he to adopt this new method of combat. His crystalline weapon was more a manifestation of his control over the earth. It was there to empower him and make him more dangerous. He needed to be dangerous in the first place. His enemies were they to actively be worried about him, would expect him to bring the edge of a sword to their throats. He would change that. He would harness the mystical energies of the elements to become his new blade. While he would never truly forget his skill with a blade, he would need to adapt and overcome. Still, no screaming perpetuated through his mind of body. Was he now free of his ancestors? Perhaps he could truly see the world for what it was compared to what he believed it to be in his blood addled, near frenzied state of being.
Time would pass as Matsu had removed himself from the rest of the world. He knew not truly how much time would have passed as he forged his crafts, made art, and generally just attended to his own spiritual well being. He had no reason to feel bad about himself anymore. He had done the best he possibly could have given his condition. It was not his fault that he had effectively been possessed by his genetics and by some spiteful godlike being that had no regard for anything outside bloodshed. That just meant his followers would destroy themselves on the spears of others. It was...sad. Sad, now, is all that it could be to Matsu as he actively participated in this nonsense. Were he at another point in his life he might be ashamed of his actions, but they were merely a thing he was required to do. While he had agency in the matter then and agency now, it was unimportant. It would not change the past. It could not be undone. All he could do now would be to go forward and leave this place. Shifting his stance, Matsu would continue work on his projects and toil away at crafting himself into something far more beautiful. He had not noticed that his hair had been growing back. A beard was beginning to come in and the hair upon his head was growing into lush strands of strawberry blonde.
As Matsu's final project, he would forge his hammer into something more fitting for the world outside. It was not an unknown that Blacksmith's would use their hammers like weapons. Similar to how mechanics would use their oversized wrenches as if it were some kind of comedy. Blissfully, Matsu would be unaware of the declarations of war. While it would have been announced...at some point in his seclusion, it would not truly matter for him. He didn't care to get himself involved with war. All this time, Fusen had been proud of his companion. Sloughing off one's more violent nature in favor of art was difficult, but he was proud to be associated with Matsu for such things. Happily, the lizard would find its way upon Matsu shoulder. Now, Matsu wore only a hakama with rope belt tied into a relatively large, decorative bow on the back of his waistline. Regularly striking metal made Matsu look even more fit than previously. Frail looking as the Takahashi were, Matsu would be relatively well built at this point. Lifting the hammer up over his shoulder, Matsu would approach his workshop door once more.
Time was the most exhausting part of any endeavor. It wasn't how many times you got stabbed, burnt yourself, fell into pits, or any other danger. It was just the time that it took to work through something and make into something akin to art. What even is art? This is a profound question that very few have answers to. The truth is that art is whatever the fuck you say it is. Life was art if you wanted it to be. So, now for Matsu, life would be art. All things would be an expression of this. Quietly, with a dog sized lizard grasping to his right shoulder, Matsu would saunter back out into the world. With a renewed outlook and some new hair, he felt his more wicked ways would be set aside and his artistic ambitions would take the forefront of his mind. His idea of art, to be fair, was quite different than others would expect. "Let us see if my cousin will respect his own words."
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OOC: Marked for several notes in request thread.
Topic Entered and Left unless stopped.|
Here in the darker reaches, Matsu would remove himself from the accursed sunlight above. While he had thought it was something he wanted, similar to many things, he realized he wanted nothing more to do with it. Now he would exercise his strength over the earth, pulling the heat of the world itself up to fuel his forge. Great basins of water would be filled and made. Steam would rise and the room would be similar to a geothermic sauna. Now that his new space had been forged, Matsu would sit and breathe it all in. Fusen watched curiously from the ceiling, basking in the heat that was this work space. As many of his kind, he needed to be bathed in the heat and would swim in the magma if he felt fit. For now, Fusen would simply watch and observe his companion.
Sitting quietly in the heat, Matsu sat cross legged in the nude. His body was bare of tattoos. Sweating, he simply breathed. He wanted to forget. He wanted to purge those final, terrible thoughts. He wanted, possibly, to be a better person. After what felt like ages, he would lift hismelf from the floor and move to his door, locking it from the inside. "Friend. I will have you go and collect materials as I require them. Please do this for me." The lizard would nod and scutter off, knowing of the initial wants its companion desired. From there, Matsu would raise his massive hammer and begin to work on the shards of his previous sword, Draughtbane, to bring it forward as something new.
Thankfully the screaming had stopped in his mind. For once he might be able to perceive things clearly. Now was the time to forge himself into the perfection he wished to be. He, himself, would be the canvas for his art. Having smashed, pounded, and ground the feathersteel glass down he would begin to make his inks. Using a similarly crafted needle and raw leather mallet, Matsu would begin to dip the needle into the ink and press it upon his flesh. With a tap - tap - tap of the hammer upon the back of the needle, ink would pierce below the upper layers of his skin and embed the ink deeper within to retain the patterns. Countless hours would be spent pulling up valuable materials to be ground down and blended into inks to be infused into his being. As his cousin had requested, Matsu was layering power within his very flesh by infusing the tattoos as if they were seals. Through his process, Matsu's desire for bloodshed would slowly fade away. It was impossible for him to tell long this process took. His need to commit violence waned. He cared far less for the things he once held sacred. Was this the toxic influence of the evil god he had so foolishly trusted and misidentified? Choking away the sadness and dismissing the pain he'd caused others as he grew, Matsu endeavored on to tattoo his body once more. Unlike before, the seals were layed within the ink and art was the paramount expression. Words, as they were, simply would not for this new round of tattoos. Swirling, hypnotic patterns similar to tribal blocking or geometric expressions and coupled with traditional Japanese waves were built into his flesh. These scenes would solidify upon him with no real story to tell. They were practical.
Fusen would regularly arrive with more materials. Feathersteel glass by the cart full. How this small, dog sized lizard was able to procure such things was beyond him, but it did not matter. Carnosaurs would likely leave lizards alone. They had no reason to fight. This would benefit Matsu in his dealings to make himself a better person, physically and mentally.
After countless hours pressing ink into his flesh, Matsu was ready. Focusing his energies on his bare feet and the area around him, he began to shift the very world around him to pull minerals out of the earth and into his body. Featherglass would flourish from his frame, encapsulating his toes and glistening across his skin similar to how one would wear sandfish. With tiny, sharp barbs lining his body, Matsu would strike against the air performing Kata he thought he had long forgotten. Step by step, his body would dance and swim through the open space of his forge. He would ride the line of the magma, squelching pools, and traipse about kicking and striking at imaginary targets. Finally, as his Kata ended, Matsu would slam his heel into the earth. Tremors would pulse from his foot as his hands worked through seals to send the earth under foot to do his command. Rows of sharp rocks would erupt, gnash, and grind up against a wall before becoming flush once more.
Breathing heavily as chakra flooded from his body, Matsu would begin to tap into his physical reserves. While physically resilient, he would need a deeper reservoir of spiritual energy were he to adopt this new method of combat. His crystalline weapon was more a manifestation of his control over the earth. It was there to empower him and make him more dangerous. He needed to be dangerous in the first place. His enemies were they to actively be worried about him, would expect him to bring the edge of a sword to their throats. He would change that. He would harness the mystical energies of the elements to become his new blade. While he would never truly forget his skill with a blade, he would need to adapt and overcome. Still, no screaming perpetuated through his mind of body. Was he now free of his ancestors? Perhaps he could truly see the world for what it was compared to what he believed it to be in his blood addled, near frenzied state of being.
Time would pass as Matsu had removed himself from the rest of the world. He knew not truly how much time would have passed as he forged his crafts, made art, and generally just attended to his own spiritual well being. He had no reason to feel bad about himself anymore. He had done the best he possibly could have given his condition. It was not his fault that he had effectively been possessed by his genetics and by some spiteful godlike being that had no regard for anything outside bloodshed. That just meant his followers would destroy themselves on the spears of others. It was...sad. Sad, now, is all that it could be to Matsu as he actively participated in this nonsense. Were he at another point in his life he might be ashamed of his actions, but they were merely a thing he was required to do. While he had agency in the matter then and agency now, it was unimportant. It would not change the past. It could not be undone. All he could do now would be to go forward and leave this place. Shifting his stance, Matsu would continue work on his projects and toil away at crafting himself into something far more beautiful. He had not noticed that his hair had been growing back. A beard was beginning to come in and the hair upon his head was growing into lush strands of strawberry blonde.
As Matsu's final project, he would forge his hammer into something more fitting for the world outside. It was not an unknown that Blacksmith's would use their hammers like weapons. Similar to how mechanics would use their oversized wrenches as if it were some kind of comedy. Blissfully, Matsu would be unaware of the declarations of war. While it would have been announced...at some point in his seclusion, it would not truly matter for him. He didn't care to get himself involved with war. All this time, Fusen had been proud of his companion. Sloughing off one's more violent nature in favor of art was difficult, but he was proud to be associated with Matsu for such things. Happily, the lizard would find its way upon Matsu shoulder. Now, Matsu wore only a hakama with rope belt tied into a relatively large, decorative bow on the back of his waistline. Regularly striking metal made Matsu look even more fit than previously. Frail looking as the Takahashi were, Matsu would be relatively well built at this point. Lifting the hammer up over his shoulder, Matsu would approach his workshop door once more.
Time was the most exhausting part of any endeavor. It wasn't how many times you got stabbed, burnt yourself, fell into pits, or any other danger. It was just the time that it took to work through something and make into something akin to art. What even is art? This is a profound question that very few have answers to. The truth is that art is whatever the fuck you say it is. Life was art if you wanted it to be. So, now for Matsu, life would be art. All things would be an expression of this. Quietly, with a dog sized lizard grasping to his right shoulder, Matsu would saunter back out into the world. With a renewed outlook and some new hair, he felt his more wicked ways would be set aside and his artistic ambitions would take the forefront of his mind. His idea of art, to be fair, was quite different than others would expect. "Let us see if my cousin will respect his own words."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
OOC: Marked for several notes in request thread.
Topic Entered and Left unless stopped.|
[legend="[glow=#73e29a][b][size=5]Plague Bearer[/size][/b][/glow]"]
[/legend]
[/col]