Sword Play [Job]

Bracing himself, Inari stepped out into the morning chill – the door creaked in protest as it swung shut behind him – closing off the portal to a land of creature comfort and modern convenience. Even with the stairway to heaven bared, the Blacksmith did not falter in his gait. Admittedly, the pacing of his legs was more akin to a sleepy bear stumbling from hibernation as Inari sipped at the themos of instant coffee gripped within white fingers. His pale whitewalker flesh felt oddly out of place within the confines of this mortal soup bowl and indeed, other early morning walkers also began to collude together with him. In much the same fashion as the lazy cloud banks are formed people’s common purpose gravitated them towards each other. Until a critical mass reached, and what could be considered a solitary figures walking in general vicinity of each other graduated into a full grown crowd – something which was especially notable when suffering the transition between residential areas as the closer one was to the city proper the later one could afford to rise. Inari, existing on the outer edges of the sprawling suburbia, was subject to rising in the wee hours of the morn in order to make it through the process of the day without being subject to the continual punishments of the established administration. The internal anarchist spewed molten rebellion at such a thought, devil horns puncturing the sky with laughter as the school building dissolved into as much as the ancients regarded of the mighty astonomer Galio: nothing but impotent smoke and mist. A private smirk grew across his visage at the recount of this fantasy to himself, such silliness had no place in the true cognitive functioning of day to day life but he could afford himself such idle luxury whilst safely surrounded in the pleasant green lands of anonymity – such was the power of crowd. Disguised amongst the populus, he was invisible as they all were. Conformity, absolute or not, had its advantages if you were trying to blend in. It was a mighty cloak, a uniform birthed from the shapes, shadows, shades, voices, thoughts and opinions of others. A distinct breed of cloak and dagger which could only be afforded from within the aegis of many. Something Inari, in that moment, was content to wear the guise of the common man, hide like a thespian, laugh like a gigolo and live like someone afraid to love. But then moments later he broke out of this still time; the limbo of identity which such folk belonged to. Whilst a moment resting from the ever judgemental grazing stares of society under its shade was most restful, ultimately it was anathema to Inari’s being. He could not stand such meek and humble behaviour and instead found himself struggling to keep his pace even and steady, wishing nothing more than to run forwards, run until he could gain no further distance ‘tween himself and the braying hounds of demise. Wrapping the long polyester coat around him, Inari stepped down into the public transport service and was soon spirited away towards the Rising Wolf Academy, wherein an encounter awaited his presence – yet he was still unaware of this conflict that awaited him on the hearthstone of his learning grounds. Walking through the gates, he was soon presented with the prodigious appearance of the sword masters prized student, a boy by the name of Kei Minua, his ego had reportedly swollen beyond the bounds of the norm and for some reason unfathomable to the younger boy, Inari’s person was now the devout object of his ire. Gliding ‘neath the sweeping archway of Rising Wolf, Inari spotted his war path en route to his person before Kei’s presence graced him with wrathful accusation of cowardice. Not one to actively seek out such an encounter, he turned towards the darkness of the crowd – the impulse to lose himself amongst the forest of his species was calling. However he recognised the trap as he made the motion to place his foot down. In obeying this primal directive, Inari felt he would have lost, regardless of whether the challenge had been voiced publicly or not. Indeed, by cowing his head and allowing the laurel of the quadrate to settle around his neck he would have justly allowed the selfsame noose of perfidy to take his self-esteem and personal moral integrity. Finding himself unable to abide by such betray, he pivoted on the foot and instead turned and begun to walk towards Kei – still smiling in ineradicable aloof smile, eyes sparkling with hidden amusement at the secreted jokes of the world. Quickly the people parted for him and his opponent who also closed the distance with signifcantly more haste and purpose than Inari showed. Nevertheless the destination of his path was never in any doubt to those who observed the encounter. As with all such juvenile encounters, the formula of the schoolyard was obeyed so as to justify this engagement via social techniques of neutralisation. Inari went through the motions, egging his opponent on and even securing a bet. If he won, Kei would give him a sword from his collect, the same applying to Inari. Once negotiations came to a close, initive was quickly seized by Kei who flung himself with reckless abandon towards Inari – his kinetic energy coming to a halt against the red primal barrier which sprung up between them – the ethereal barrier inscribed with the information of the base product recalled from within the Moon, which spun excitingly in orbits around Inari’s left shoulders crackling manically as Chi surged through the ornament and Kei was on the defensive, dodging away from three blades which cheekily darted through the air where he had previously been, seeking to taste the iron of his blood on their tongues of steel. Again and again he struck, but each time Kei found Inari’s defence impeccable and soon began to tap into his own chi, which was the moment Inari truly turned on the offensive. Pointing an accusatory pointer finger towards the blade, a ghostly imprint eeked out of the metal and was consumed by the greedy Moon. So armed with the knowledge of the weapon with which Kei so favoured, instead of destroying his opponent, Inari set out to destroy the item with which Kei sought to secure his condition of victory instead. As soon as the blade shattered under the relentless assault, his spirit to win lay as broken as the sword. Mission accomplished, Inari favoured Kei with a consolidation pat on the shoulder in the gesture of good sportmanship before leaving briefly. He would secure the prize later, for the time being he was late to class despite his best intentions.