As Yasei's tetsubo thuds into the ground after the last strike, he does a half spin and sends it crashing with maximum force into the nearest Tengu's midsection.
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"Tengu!" Yasei shouts, and charges at one. With a roar, he swings his club, and then uses the momentum from the miss to drop it on the Tengu's head.
"No need to have worried. We're proud of our heritage and power, but everyone knows true oni are treacherous sons of-" he says, but cuts off as his head whips around a split second before Hiro.
He hefts his tetsubo, though hesitantly. "I do not remember tales of oni with beaks, though maybe my education was lacking..."
"So you brought over a dozen soldiers, well-armed, to chase a thief who fled into mountains even you are wary of the danger of. For the crime of stealing food." "Excuse my bluntness, but you are either incompetent, or a liar. I'm inclined to assume the latter, given your experience and seeming skill."
Yasei snorts a small ironic laugh at the mention of oni haunting the crags.
Yasei exhales sharply, almost laughing. "It seems none of us really had a choice but fight or die. All in the Oni Clan are warriors, to some extent or another. As small as we are, we can't afford the luxury of true noncombatants like some of the larger clans." "At a young age, around four or five if you're lucky enough to know your birthday, they take you from whatever family you may have and put you in groups. We train from dawn to dusk in exercises meant to strengthen the body, and study into the night the history of our clan. Those who show promise are put into smaller groups, and given more specialized training." "The elite warriors of our clan learn the forms of the tetsubo, the weapon of our namesake demon. We learn to turn a seemingly crude weapon into a brutal art, and then turn it on each other. One on one combat with real tetsubo against our fellow students. We are not meant to kill each other, but accidents happen. Death is rare, but crippled limbs and mind-addling are common to both losers and supposed winners alike." "The graduates from this class serve as junior officers in the clan's army from the age of 13 or 14." Yasei gives a rueful smile. "Believe it or not, I was a failure. My opponent's club splintered my arm, bone jutting through the skin." here he displays a nasty looking scar on his left forearm. "Took months to heal, years for the pain to truly stop. I served as a footsoldier for ten years before I earned a commission in battle. Some border skirmish with the Teikoku, before we allied. I was promoted by virtue of being the only one of my squad to survive the battle." "It has taken me much longer than that to earn the position I have now, and rightfully complete the training I started as a boy. That one failure set me back so far, I've been afraid to fail again. Thankfully our clan is long-lived, and I am patient."
"Yes. Let's get moving."
Yasei takes the box, but looks uncomfortable. "It does not feel right to take such a reward from those so poor. Perhaps it would be best as a gift for Lady Miu?"
"Try building some walls. Or at least dig a trench. Or both. Bandits tend to be lazy cowards. Make their job too hard, and they'll leave you alone."
Yasei gets right to the point. "You are free from the bandits, yes. We have neither the time nor inclination to take their place. We also do not have the time or manpower to leave people to protect you. You will have to defend yourselves from now on."
Yasei's smashes his tetsubo into the lightly armored bandit's side, and then using the momentum of the bounce, swings it into the side of his head.
Yasei roars and lays about him with his tetsubo, swinging it as though it was a switch.
Unfortunately this just makes him look like a raging incompetent, as he strikes nothing of significance.
Yasei sets off at an easy predatory lope that shows exactly why he trusts his own feet more than a horse. He moves in, deceptively quickly, and without breaking stride brings down his tetsubo on a bandit's skull.
Ryushi coughs a couple times to draw Hiro's attention as he takes an arrow "We ought to bring justice, not death, upon them. Justice and vengeance are different matters." he says while frowning "The penalty for banditry is death. Death IS justice here." Yasei corrects.
Yasei swings off the horse and stamps his feet. "Always trusted my own feet better, but for appearances' sake..." "I agree with your plan; I have no better one." His eyes begin to glow with a blood red tint as he readies his weapon and limbers up.
"I am not a particularly good ambusher, but am willing to make the attempt. However, I would also not mind acting as a distraction if any of you are more stealth inclined."
Yasei gives a horsebound bow to Sota and rides off after Haruto.
Yasei nods. "Fair compromise. I'll go too, if you decide on this course." the last he addresses at the Shojinawa heads.
"We can handle a few bandits. What we might not be able to handle is a big delay. The other four clans might take it as a sign of weakness, or worse an insult if we arrive last. We're gathering to put those petty differences aside, but they're not just going to disappear overnight. Worst case scenario we're looking at another war." Yasei rumbles intensely.
Yasei, ever suspicious, eyes the girl. "Careful, my lords*, it could be a trick." he looks directly at Miu "You are renowned for your kindness. The bandits could be attempting to prey on it."
Anyone unaware of Yasei's heritage would be rightly confused (and perhaps startled) by his presence. By all seeming, a red skinned, brutish and muscular hobgoblin strides along with the rest of the group, an enormous tetsubo thrown over his shoulders and arms resting casual on it as though he were carrying water. His sleeveless leather vest and comfortable pants show off an impressively muscular physique, and an imposing oni tattoo adorns his right shoulder, declaring his allegiance to all in the know. Yasei has been on a low level of alert for the past few days, but is finally starting to relax just a little. After all, they haven't been jumped yet. He keeps mostly to himself as they walk, though not by choice. His unnatural looks and seemingly hostile expression (brought on by thick eyebrows and bone ridges) have served to scare off all but those who have pressing business with him, and the rough gravelly voice he answers their questions with sends them scurrying off as quickly as they can manage it. He sighs a bit, then shrugs when those events cross his mind. Nothing he can do about it, after all. |