On the Other Side of the World: Memoirs of a Ronin

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Kayle Walker
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Joined: Sun Dec 27, 2020 1:41 pm

On the Other Side of the World: Memoirs of a Ronin

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The caravan drove on down the road, sleepily like the beasts of burden that pulled it along. From her count, the morn marked a week since their last town. Tsukumo was hunched over, warm bodies pressed against either shoulder. Across the cart, haggard faces, both young and old - the toll of their long journey clearly weighing on them. They sat in relative silence, with the steady groan of the wood under the feet lulling them into a stupor.

And yet, even with the visible exhaustion on their faces, there was an air of hope.

An odd smile.

A sigh of relief.

An excited 'Are we there yet?'

But as everyone waited with bated breath, Tsukumo held disquieted thoughts. Someone who never knew the outside of her kingdom was now untold miles away from it, through land and sea - away from from everything she's known all her life. It was a bitter irony, that she would long for a place that she ran away from, and yet here she was. For all of the blood spilt and the indignations she has endured, there was something to be said about having a place to belong. To expect normalcy, no matter how twisted a form it took.

And underneath her unlikely nostalgia was fear. She left the yokes of lord and oath, but what would she find in return? Would she run away, only to find another collar around her neck?

The caravan stops, and they begin to disembark. The answer to her question, she would know one way or the other.
Kayle Walker
Posts: 7
Joined: Sun Dec 27, 2020 1:41 pm

Re: On the Other Side of the World: Memoirs of a Ronin

Unread post by Kayle Walker »

"Keep your wits about you, weapons at the ready. Patrol's only around these woods - close enough to civilized folk but ain't no telling what sorts o' nasties roam here."

Tsukumo's eyes glanced down the row, and saw a handful of fresh faces, their fists quivering around their weapons. The rest were slack - even yawning - yet she could clearly see the callouses on their hands, and the scars these nights have left on them. The guard captain then divvied up the rounds, calling out names of grizzled mercenaries, who in turn barked the rest into rank before heading out the fort.

Four days in this strange land, and she found herself back into old habits. Her purse tightened, her Common was limited and she knew little outside of swinging a sword - taking it up again as a hired blade felt like an obvious recourse. But standing where she was now, she knew, loathe as it was to admit: the comfort of not having to think for one's self was an addictive drug.
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