"Humph! This place is no fun, Mister Mitsukaru, You said your homeland was full of ADVENTURE!" Perched sulkingly in a tree, a child hidden in foreign garb of greens and browns crossed two thick gloves to grasp the toes of oversized leather boots. A silvery fox tail swished sulkingly behind the kid as bright yellow eyes rolled around the cherry blossoms searching at least for a tasty little red morsel.
"Ah dunnae know about you, lad, but thah wemon 'round here make up fer thah lack of adventure!" a thick, western accent--specifically scottish--called up from below the tree as a fair-haired man in a red and green skirt and big leather boots trampsed towards the local village.
"Don't worry, young Dodgers, there will be plenty of excitement at tonight's festival. You should come down and join us in the village." A calm voice spoke up to the child as well, though this one came from a man in purple native clothing, crowned by a helm of intertwining serpents while a mask hid the lower part of his face.
Purple, a sissy colour, the kid thought. But before Dodgers could reply, a very strange sight caught the kid's attenction. A glowing blob floated through the air looking rather transparent, yet it was being driven and directed by a sleek, serpentine creature which also had a rather ethereal appearance. It passed right past the kid's freckle dotted nose and yellow eyes which widened like twin-full moons. A basket-hilted saber was drawn from behind a large buckled belt as the kid balancedly stood up from the tree perch, following the creature's suspicious movements, "Sorry! Got business to attend to!"
"No, Dodgers, do not touch that. It is a Shinidamachuu, a dead soul insect and it is carrying a dead soul." Mister Mitsukaru warned knowingly.
With an eager flick of the tail, and a mischievous folding of each triangular ear from that head of silvery fluff, the child crouched on the branch, then sprang forth in a miraculous arc following the creature by treetop, "Ha-HA! All the more reason! I shall steal back this lost soul and return it to it's rightful owner! It's what heroes do!" that high-pitched, youthful voice shouted out.
Landing with much practice on silent boot-soles and thick leather gloves, the child huddled on each tree branch upon landing and spied the soul-stealer's movements before launching forth once again after it. Off to the rear, in the kid's trail the sound of a very large sword being drawn was picked up by those keen triangular ears, and the voices of the child's companions coming whether the kid had listened or not. Great! With the whole team, they'd see some Real action now, Dodgers thought excitedly while in midair. And that was when the woods took a darker feel of evil, which only drove the eager adventurer on more quickly, and suddenly they broke into a clearing over a murky stand of stagnant water. There was a woman, a native one in native red and white cloths, and she was very beautiful. Her raven hair was long, flowing, and kept back from her face to fall cascading down her back.
Landing silently at the edge of the wood, the kid watched with wide eyes, lowered brows, and forward turned ears knowing this wouldn't end well when the soul stealer came to her. So it was a witch, no doubt, who was stealing souls for some evil purpose, well a certified self-proclaimed hero . . . and friends weren't going to stand by and let this happen any longer!
"You, witch! . . . " as she turned with the sudden harking call, bulky leather boots slapped the mossy floor in quick rhythmic beats as the kid approached and in a blinding flash of heavenly blue and morning gold, the blade sliced the head clean off the soul stealer causing it to twitch and diminish to a line of colour, and then nothing as the soul itself wiggled free. Still holding position, inches from the fair witch, the child looked up with arrogant pride and a smug grin because in the leafy underbrush, Dodgers could hear Tristan and Mitsukaru arrive for backup.
Then suddenly *KONK!* a great bruise swelled up on Dodgers little fuzzy head as the kid sat poutingly with both arms and a sword crossed over that scrawny chest while listening to a thick scottish accent bellow, "Whuddah ye doin' lad?? Botherin' thah beautiful young lassie!!!"
Tail bristled, boots dancing upon the ground, Dodgers did the dance of the frustrated fox, "Cheap shot! That's not funny! Hittin' me from behind! I was in the middle of battle!"
"You fool," spoke the woman in a very emotionless voice as she lifted her hand and sent a stream of unknown energy towards them.
"Tristan!" with plenty of time to dodge using those lightening fast reflexes, the kid held ground instead pulling up the shimmering sword and braising it with both hands to hold the force at bay, not even sure of what it was. The soles of each bulky boot slid backwards across the slippery mud and Dodgers felt Tristan's leg at the kid's back. Teeth grit, scrawny arms straining to hold the power back, "Tristan . . . get outta the way . . . "
The kid could already hear Mitsukaru's rather enchanted sword drawn off to the side as he seemed to try to rush to aid, but Dodgers couldn't keep track of much else, especially when the support of the larger man's leg was taken away and the kid was sent scuttling backwards, "Trist!!" With more determination now, but nobody to guard, the kid caught enough ground to leap into the air, pushing back at the force upon the blade to help propel the acrobatic child into a forward flip and onto a wobbling branch over the action. Ready for the counter-strike, the kid pulled up the sword over one shoulder with both hands and aimed for the witch's head from above only to stop just as Tristan approached her, and she started to walk away with him at her heels. Wait a second . . . Mister Mitsukaru? He was on the ground, and the child hadn't even heard any combat. Fighting the urge to go kick Tristan in the back of the knee right away, the child dropped down next to the fallen masked samurai, "Mister Mitsukaru! Mister Mitsukaru! Wake up! We got to go get Trist! Hey, why are you on the ground--your not hurt!"
Knelt on the man's belly to loom over his emotionless face, the child leaned even closer to touch him with gloved fingers, pulling them eye to eye only to see nothing in return. Tail bristled, the kid jerked back, "It's a spell! Or she's taken his soul instead! Oh no, Tristan's in trouble too! Looks like it's up to me as usual to save the day! Don't worry, ol' pal, I'll getchyer soul back for ya!"
Pulling in a breath full of courage and pride, the kid held the sword up over one shoulder and bounded away by the treetops to follow the witch tailed by a wandering love-struck scottsman. They weren't too far ahead yet, and Dodgers leapt down onto the big guy's shoulders and then rushed forward off of him for an attack on the witch, "DIE! Witch! Give me back my friends!" But upon the decent, swinging the sword downwards towards her neck, she turned, bow drawn and in that instant, the arrow was released shining with enchantment. Eyes wide in bewilderment, sword not in position to block at pointblank range, the kid fell back, arrow pushing deep into that scrawny chest. Hands weakening, eyes narrowing in pain, the kid stopped at last pinned to a tree by the arrow protruding from that yellow vest and both hands helplessly pawed at it even as a basket-hilt was still trapping the child's right hand.
Through a wall of tear welling up in each eye from pain, the kid looked up to see a blurry image of a skirted man following the witch off into the dense woods disappearing through the dreary darkness, and Dodgers' own leather glove reaching out in vain towards them, "Tristan! Come . . . back . . . " But slowly, a heaviness pulled the child's head until chin met chest, eyes closing as they fell upon the arrow, and the bristled tail went limp.
Feeling drained and weakened, having not gathered the amount of souls she needed, Kikyo painfully retired to the temple before a dark swirling wind caught her attenction, passing in through the door.
A dark presence appeared so silent and suddenly, she would have been startled if that were possible. A vision then appeared at the heart of the swirling wind, a black robed demon wreathed in beauty, the locks of violet-tinted scarlet hair and even streaks of sable which flowed and swirled with an unearthly breeze and were parted at the crown of the demon's head only by two round feline ears. Matching eyes of red-violet, like the eyes of a cat opened under sooty lashes to look upon her from a starry frame which surrounded the slender, frail body it belonged to, long velvety tail speckled in black whipped gracefully along the demon's side. "Priestess Kikyo . . . " an ethereal voice called from thin, black painted lips as a taloned hand held forth a glowing sphere in offering.
She looked up, slightly offended by the disturbance.
"I bring to you the orb of Baast as an offering, a gift. I have watch your servants do their delicate work, and I have seen your servants brought down before you. I see your plight, and bring you aid. Use this to collect your souls; I have made many special modifications to this artifact to suit your purposes." A wicked smile formed upon those dark lips.
"And what price would you demand for such an artifact . . . "
"Ahh . . . " the arm stretched forth, holding the orb ever closer to it's intended wielder, "Let's just say, I would appreciate a few particular targets of usage . . . "
And as she lifted the orb from the clawed hands offering it to her, Kikyo understood as she lifted the artifact and drowned out the shadow of a man in foreign attire standing silently against the wall watching over her with a blank expression in his eyes.
