Anyways
We've got a samurai of legend facing off against a dragon known by myths. Let's see if honor can overpower wrath. As usual, CnC is welcome.
My part
Spoiler (Click to Show)
“Jeez Iroh, take it easy on me! I may be a fighter but that doesn’t mean I like getting thrown around!” The old man laughed.
“Well I don’t like throwing you, but you left yourself open and I had to take the opportunity!” He offered a hand to Dracustos. “To be honest, you’re not easy to flip, even for me.”
“Is it because you’re so short?” the halfbreed teased as he let the man help him up. He soon regretted the remark. Iroh jerked the beast forward with the arm he held, and while Draco was off balance used the momentum and leverage to flip him again. He straightened himself.
“Not really, that just makes it easier to bring you down to my level,” he replied with a grin. He received a snort as Dracustos looked at him from the floor.
“Are you sure you’re in your eighties?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Those ailments of old age getting to you?”
“Maybe a little. Sparring with you certainly doesn’t help.”
“Well that’s what happens when you throw a two-hundred-pound halfbreed over your shoulder.” Dracustos sat up and spun around. There was a moment of silence between them as Iroh stepped away, holding his arms behind his back.
“I’ve seen your last few battles, Dracustos. You’re getting sloppy, attacking more like a feral beast instead of using what you’ve been taught. I know in the heat of battle you do what your gut tells you, but I even saw some of it while we were sparring.” The Draconian sighed and looked to the floor.
“Sorry, I just… it sort of feels more natural I guess…”
“More natural, or is it Irascor’s influence?” He was given a shrug. “Either way, it’s getting you into trouble. You could have easily avoided what happened with Serra. You’re much more skilled than that, Dracustos.”
“That wasn’t even a fair fight, Iroh, and I didn’t want to hurt her.”
“I understand that, Dracustos, but you can’t always be slipping up like this. What if an old foe comes back? One mistake is all it takes. Just one.”
“I know, I know,” the halfbreed sighed, turning his gaze back to the floor. There was a moment of silence between them before the old man spoke again.
“I think we’re done for today. It’s getting mighty cold out; don’t want you to freeze on the way home. But first, how about some lunch?” The old man made his way across the dojo to the door that connected it to the White Lotus, and Dracustos stood.
“Lunch? Isn’t your diner closed today?”
“It is closed when I say it is, and right now it’s open for us to have lunch,” Iroh answered with a humored grin. Dracustos chuckled and shook his head before following him into the small establishment. Enough light filtered in through the paper shades to allow the old man to walk without bumping into things. Draco glanced at the fountain of the Four Chinese Dragon Kings as he passed it. For a moment he wondered if Iroh had ever spoken to one of these dragons, which would explain how he learned Dragontongue. There was still much about the old man he had yet to learn.
“What’ll it be, Draco?” the Oriental asked as he flipped on the lights. He received a shrug.
“Surprize me.”
“There is no surprising you; you know my menu like the back of your hand! Unless of course I add a little something...”
“You keep that damn sauce off my food, Iroh.”
“Can’t take a little heat?”
“A little heat? That stuff is lethal!”
“Uh-huh.”
“Seriously, I’m pretty sure I almost died from it.”
“Sure.”
“That’s probably how I became Bonded with a spirit. You almost killed me with your sauce.” Iroh laughed and vanished into the kitchen. Dracustos remained standing for a moment before lifting the blinds of a window and taking a seat in the first booth. He looked out at the wintered town, covered in the white hues of snow, then back inside where the shadows of Kirin and phoenix and dragons stood against the wall from the decorative paper that covered the windows.
“Tea’s ready!” Iroh called as he set a steaming cup in the serving window. The halfbreed called back a thanks before summoning the cup into his hand, and he was greeted by the scent of darjeeling. Not long after another smell drifted through the air accompanied by the hissing and metallic clangs of cooking utensils as the Oriental worked his magic.
Suddenly Irascor stirred, gaining Draco’s attention.
What is it?
Something’s coming… The Draconian turned his gaze back to the window, and then he sensed it. There was a sort of hostility about it, yet it wasn't dark, and it was powerful.
Any idea what that could be?
It seems to be some sort of spirit… one similar to me in a way…
Something red caught the Draconian’s eye, the color standing out amongst the white of snow, and he was almost baffled at what it was. A samurai - a large one at that - was trudging through the cold powder. The stranger paused, looked up at the Lotus, and began to make their way to the door. Dracustos noted the painted mask, the exaggerated curved fangs reminiscent of Chinese and Japanese works.
“Iroh, someone else is coming in. Seems to be an Oriental,” he informed. The old man exited the kitchen just as the samurai opened the door, and he gave a customary bow in greeting.
“Welcome to the White Lotus, stranger. Can I get you anything?” The newcomer bowed back.
“Something warm to drink, if you wouldn’t mind.” There was a less pronounced bow before Iroh returned to the kitchen. The armored man turned his gaze to Dracustos, and the halfbreed bowed his head to welcome him. He felt somewhat intimidated when he was approached, the figure reminding him of a Gladiator he had fought before, and the crimson eyes didn’t help. He sometimes forgot that humans could get so large.
“Do you mind?” the samurai asked, gesturing to the seat across from Dracustos. The beast shook his head.
“Not at all.” The large man slid into the seat with surprising ease, and for a moment they sat in awkward silence. Dracustos was the first to speak. “Judging by your armor and accent, I’m guessing you’re from Japan?” He was given a nod. “So, is this whole samurai thing a gimmick, or do you actually know the way of the sword?”
“Of course I do,” the man replied, seemingly offended by the question.
“Draco, it is best you do not question him about such things. You can tell when someone isn't truly a samurai.” Iroh appeared seemingly suddenly, and he set a steaming cup in front of the guest before giving another bow. “Let me know if you need anything else.” The behemoth bent his head in thanks, and the old man once again returned to the back. Draco rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.
“Uh, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to insult you.” He was given a wave of the hand.
“It’s fine, no harm done.” The samurai reached up and removed his mask, revealing a nasty scar that ran across his face.
Sheesh, this guy looks like the Shredder, Draco thought to himself as he watched the man sip his tea. He suddenly remembered he had his own cup and took a drink.
“So, what’s your name, stranger?” The armored figure sipped his drink again before answering.
“I go by Oni.” This earned a tilted head from the halfbreed.
So he’s taken the name of the spirit in him, Irascor said. It’s an old one as well… no doubt it's the reason he's still alive.
“And you?”
“Dracustos, but you can call me Draco. I’m curious, Oni; how old are you?”
The man slowly set his drink down, replying, “I have walked this earth for centuries.”
“Centuries, huh? So you’re Lost to Time. You’re about the third or fourth person I’ve met who is unaffected by time’s grasp.”
Iroh returned from the back and set a plate down in front of the Draconian before taking a seat next to him with his own meal.
“A genuine samurai…” the old man commented, “I must say it is an honor.” Oni gave a smile and continued to drink his tea. Dracustos hesitated eating, feeling it rude to do so in front of the samurai who had merely wanted a warm drink. Eventually he picked up the chopsticks laying on the side of his dish and dug in.
“Tell me, what’s a warrior like yourself doing in a little town like this?” Iroh inquired. “We don’t usually get outsiders through here unless it’s the time of our festival.”
“I travel around,” Oni answered.
“In this weather?” Dracustos chuckled. “You must have tougher hide than I do, Samurai!”
“It’s supposed to get worse tonight. Supposedly a storm is coming in...” Iroh said, stroking his beard in thought. “If you’d like, Oni, you are welcome to stay at my home until it passes. No one should be travelling as you are in the dead of winter, and I’m sure you’re tired from your journey.” Oni was quiet for a moment as he took another sip, seeming to think it over, before bowing his head again.
“That is very kind of you. May I know the name of my host?”
“You can call me Iroh.”
For the next few minutes the two Orientals exchanged words, with the halfbreed occasionally adding his two cents. As they spoke, Dracustos couldn’t help but notice the armored man’s strangely red eyes were usually on him. Though he was used to being stared at, in a way it made him uneasy. After eventually finishing their meals and drinks, Iroh gathered their utensils and excused himself from the table to take care of them. In the moment of silence Oni glanced at the fountain at the back of the diner, then looked back to the blue beast.
“My father told me many tales of dragons, including some from our neighbors across the sea. I thought they were just stories… yet here I am in the company of one.”
“Draconian, actually. I'm half dragon,” Dracustos replied. He received a curious look.
“Half? How does that happen?”
“Well, my mother was human, and my father is a dragon. He’s skilled with transformation magics, so he can take on a human appearance. Nowadays he usually uses it when he comes into town, or when we’re training.”
“Mmh, I wonder how much of the tales are true,” Oni said as he stroked his chin in thought. “You say he trains you?”
“Well, him and Iroh, though I mostly do hand-to-hand with the old man while my father schools me with the blade.”
“I see… Is it possible to best a serpent in human form?” Dracustos suddenly felt his body temperature rise, Irascor’s temper having been triggered by the question.
Calm down, he’s just curious, the halfbreed commanded. He was given a growl. Do you really think someone of his heritage would want to kill a dragon? It would be dishonorable, unless the dragon was evil.
You seem to forget, halfblood, that I was slain by men who claimed to be held by honor, the spirit spat back. Humans lie, it is in their nature.
Well unless he tries something, you need to be discrete. I should not have to tell you so often.
“Something wrong?” Oni questioned, head slightly tilted in concern. Dracustos rubbed the back of his head with a somewhat embarrassed grin. He really had to stop zoning out when speaking with Irascor.
“Sorry, I uh… do that sometimes… Anyways, besting a dragon is a true test of skill, especially since they can keep their abilities in another form. Elders and Ancients are especially crafty and can be near impossible.”
“Is your father an Elder?”
“Heh, not quite. A dragon isn’t considered a true Elder until they hit a thousand years, and he still has a few hundred to go.” The samurai gave a slow nod, then Dracustos grinned. “If you want to test yourself against a dragon, I suggest you start with a halfbreed like me.” A touch of ambition appeared in the man’s eyes.
“You do not mind if we duel?”
“Of course not. Part of being a samurai is honing your skills, right?” Oni nodded and put his mask back into place.
“If you two are going to cross blades,” Iroh said as he strode from the kitchen, “you are welcome to use my dojo.”
“You sure, Iroh?” the Draconian asked as both he and the samurai stood. “I don’t want to accidentally wreck the place.”
“As long as you don't light it on fire it's fine,” the old man answered, his voice growing stern. “It’s getting too cold outside for you, Draco, and you didn’t bring anything warm to wear. Use the dojo.”
“Alright, alright. Sheesh, you’re more of my dad than anyone else.” Draco turned, gesturing for Oni to follow, and led the way across the diner and through the door that connected it to the dojo. After taking a couple steps inside, the samurai paused to examine the area.
To his left a weapon rack lay, as well as on the far wall and another centered at the back, each holding various Oriental weapons. The back wall was mostly glass, as all but a few feet in the center was actually large windows with sliding doors leading to what looked like a small garden that was now frozen over. Beyond that there seemed to be another structure like a meditation room, connected by a hall on each side all lined with windows to view the garden.
“It’s a nice place, isn’t it?” Oni turned his attention to the halfbreed, who had made his way to the other side of the room. “So, you want to use bo staffs, or stick with your sword?”
“I am testing my skill, am I not? It is not a true test if there is no risk.”
“As you wish. Iroh, you mind if I use one of your katanas?”
“You’re not going to use yours?” the old man inquired. Dracustos shook his head.
“I’d rather not break Oni’s sword by mistake.”
“Good point. But I suggest using at least the O-Katana.” Oni placed a hand on the hilt of his sword as Dracustos retrieved one from the rack. They both pulled their blades from their scabbards and took a similar pose, one foot forward with the knee bent, blade held with both hands. “Alright Oni, let’s see where wandering around for centuries has gotten you.”
Dracustos launched himself forward, covering the ground between them in the blink of an eye, going for a straightforward strike. It took the samurai by surprise that such a large beast could move so quickly, and his first block ended up a bit clumsy. The halfbreed swung for a sideways slice and Oni blocked again. Their swords bounced off each other with such force both stepped back to regain balance. Oni charged this time, going for a side attack. The Draconian dropped under the swing and came back up, slicing upward. Unable to defend, his opponent awkwardly leaned away from the sharp metal and lost his balance, but he was quick to roll and