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Mistress & Number VI
Chapter I. Part I
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"Entry 9 - how appropriate."
Though one would not know it just from looking at him, he was one of the most feared warriors in the land.
Certainly, he wasn't that much to look at - though his amber eyes and silver-white hair were somewhat otherworldly, his dress was more fitting of a common farmer. As a matter of fact, he was a farmer's son, and had originally intended to follow in his father's footsteps. The only hint as to his true power was the falcon that rarely left his side; it sat perched on his shoulder, glowering at anyone who dared cross its path.
The man and the bird traveled the kingdom, striking fear into the hearts of warriors everywhere. He held no allegiances - he would fight for whoever would offer the highest price. And for those that did not...his falcon's talons could pierce even the strongest of armor.
He was one of the nine legendary warriors. The others, though legendary in their time, eventually grew too proud and fell in battle. However, he remained, standing alone amongst them all. Perhaps that was why he was referred to as "Last of 9."
-taken from the written memories of the documenter, Phoenix Goliathane
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Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.
- Confucius
By love and war a picture of pure serenity is painted across the landscape of blazing flames. Melancholy memories flooded in his dreams like a tidal wave of those so furiously depicted waves of torment.
The blades collided with such force, but only was one crafted at such a fine level was it capable of with standing the repeated hacking and slashing motions of two sword dancers in the night. The moon light gleamed as the blades crossed once more. The shadow figures crossed one another’s path beside the waters edge. In an instant, as silent as a pin striking the ground, the warm violet blood stained the ground as it dripped to the ground from his blade. As swiftly as the challenge of the mind and body had begun it had ended with the final flick of his sword as the felled opponent dropped to the ground with a sound that was very unbecoming of her grace.
It was finally the done. His first task to recovery and revenge was completed. The woman samurai, with her ruby lips and long dark hair, would no longer be able to expand her tyranny over the land with her reaching grip. Not that it was his desire to relief the people suffering beneath her outward gaze. His goal was much more personal. But stories were more likely to be shared at the beginning, because it was not often stories were told with the ending first.
Around these parts it was uncommon for anyone to dress as he did; at least it was uncommon for anyone other than the mistress to dress as he did. Their apparel was extravagant in its own way. The Mistress wore long elegantly colored robes with her hair done up in a bun, which was common among nobles. She was obviously obsessed with finer jewelry and clothing, but this was not questioned by the people of the village-town she and her men governed. The Mistress, the only name she allowed anyone in her presence to address her by, had the delicate workings of the town wrapped around her finger like a fine golden silk thread. She demanded high taxes and if families were not able to pay, well there always was a way to pay.
Her cycle worked like a devilish plan. Boys were taken away to be her warriors and personal aids, or seduced slaves as others would call it. If a family had no boys then the women were put to good use as well. They were in fact the life of the town, the brothel, the prostitutes for the soldiers.
The Mistress worked her magical words and kept everyone in line. The rich were happy and the women were tools. None of this really mattered to the stranger who entered the small pub with an alarming aroma of his own bitterly brewed tea and alcohol mixture.
The strange man wore a large grass woven hat that covered much of his facial features, but it was what he wore that kept the few regulars of the pub’s attentions. Although they were tattered and dust worn they still had a mystical glow about them. He wore a large over vest and a tight shirt designed for maximum maneuverability. Wrapped clothes covered his strong hands. Tied tight to his waist was a pot of tea and his own mixture of Saki. He lifted his hat showing a large scar across his left eye and his white ghostly hair contrasted with his tanned battle scared skin. He nodded to those whose gazes still lingered as he sat down at his own table in the dark shaded corner.
Almost instantly a bustling young woman was standing next to him waiting patiently for him to get situated before asking the obvious question. She was blushing, it was rare for a single man as handsome as him to be traveling alone and be somewhere in his mid 20s to early 30s.
Finally the question was asked. “Can I get you anything?” She said turning her beat red face away from him so she would seem more attractive.
The man reached his hand out and grabbed hers. She blushed as he pulled a customer’s cup from her sweaty palms. He dumped out the liquid inside and replaced it with his own tea from his pot. It was cold but he refused to drink anything else. After his first sip was finished he spoke in a voice so calm and with such emotion the girl nearly fainted.
“Do you recognize her?” He pulled a damaged rolled up paper from his waist and placed it on the table unrolled.
The waitress’s eyes widened and she was instantly struck with fear. The face she saw was that of the mistress’s. She had been lucky so far that her family was able to meet the tax demands by renting out rooms at their home, but the taxes were going to rise this year and they might not make it so she would be forced to work as a prostitute to work out her family’s debt.
Her father noticed the commotion and quickly came to his daughter’s side. “You haven’t a right to be here, you have not ordered anything so I can’t allow you to stay.”
The man stroked his chin. It was true he hadn’t ordered anything, but he wasn’t about to spend his money on someone else’s poorly made tea.
The father was growing annoyed; this man seemed to be off in his own little world.
The father whistled like a bird as two soldiers entered the pub. “What seems to be the problem?” At least the taxes had provided them with enough young men to protect their village from strangers. In fact it was rare that a stranger even made it this far into the village without a quarrel with the soldiers.
The father merely pointed as he pulled his daughter away from the fight he was sure was about to ensue.
The first soldier made the mistake of reaching for something that wasn’t his. “Where did you get this?” He demanded, pictures of the mistress were never to be given to commoners.
The man looked at the soldier from the corner of his eye. He was a little furious already and not particularly in a good mood from his long travel. Add that to someone who feels they have the right to touch something that wasn’t theirs he thought he had the right to act as he did.
The man pulled from his garments a concealed knife and threw it with a flick of his wrist into the back of the first soldier’s hand causing him to instantly drop the paper with the wanted photo of the so called Mistress.
Before the second soldier could react the man rose swiftly from his cushioned mat and knocked the second soldier beneath his chin causing him to bite the tip of his tongue off and crack several of his teeth. The man continued his attack by twisting the second soldier’s arm around his back causing him to bend forward. The man, with his clogged sandals-which made him look several inches taller than he was-, kicked the second soldier at the first causing the two to fall against the center beam and cracking it almost in half, it held by only an inch of wood.
The father watched with eyes wide open. His mouth fell as his daughter swooned.
“Uh yeah, sorry about that. Uh here,” the man who just left the pub in a serious wreak placed a small bag of coins, with the English numerical symbol “nine” printed on the outside, on a table as he left the pub.
The father ran to the table and grabbed the bag of coins, to his surprise he found exactly nine gold coins inside. He ran outside and began to yell. “You dumb ********! This won’t pay for the beam you busted! Get the hell back here. I’m going to put you to work to pay off the repair for this beam!” His was turning red as he waved his arms in the air.
The man with the tea pot strapped to his waist with a white cloth walked down the dirt path waving back to the father. “It pays to do a good deed every now and then.” He smiled and threw his travel bag over his shoulder as he heard the cry of a falcon from high above.
 Last of 9 · Mon Nov 17, 2008 @ 11:32pm · 6 Comments |
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