Cowardice meets nobility. Yoshitune versus Izuna.

that which stood upon the grassy plain the forms of many an individually unique species. A Squirrel dashed to gather its foods in approach of the coming winter, unaware of the predator which stalked the prey. Its jaws soon met flesh as the beast pounced upon its target, the tiny Squirrel meeting cold death as its form became a gory mess of its formal presentation. The summer breeze strewn with the smell of this rotten flesh carrying its scent across this grassy wasteland, attracting the Carnivores and repelling those that would dislike the taste of meat. For a nice looking place such as this, the smell reeked of death. Was this place so barren in spirit that this would render the place uninhabitable by those weaker individuals?

Scents carried from one place to another until it had reached the senses of a taller individual. Unlike those about him, he had no scent of murder or kill about him, only the scent of sweat pouring down his brow only accomplished had he been running all this time. It was clear he had some ability to be able to run this far into the grassy wasteland, the sound of Predators dogging his heels. He had now come to a halt in a valley, not caring furthermore if the monsters were still tailing him or not. With a motion as smooth as a wave of water, his hand motioned itself to the left hip and moved along a scabbard tied to his side by a sash, which would also secure his white garment close to his sides without fluttering about in the foul, tainted wind.

His hand had pulled silently and quickly with the wooden, cloaked in cloth material that composed the handle, a flash of light as sunlight glistened against steel. One clash had followed, teeth bared and a sword swung, the bodies of animals now lined the ground. As quick as the man had drawn his blade he had decided his first victory. Now reddened steel quietly slipping back into the scabbard, placing itself back into slumber still tainted with the blood of his late enemies. The other hand not used during this motion scratched heavily at the bearded chin lining the bottom of his jaw, and sides of his face until it met his sideburns, this facial hair a pale white in color not contrasting to his deathly pale, ghostly skin. Yet his exterior gave away his somewhat proud, happy personality, despite him having to get his hands dirty for the time being.

His mouth opened and his eyes closed in quiet contemplation of his fallen enemies, praying in silence words spoken and yet unheard without those around him to bear witness to its presence. Among the sash there were the belt, at the ends which were tied were the tsukas of formal blades, now wasted to nothing but mere clothing for the man to wear. His otherworldly language met an end at a noise located to his far right, he would glance in this direction. As if in response, the wind halted and clouds above-head dispersed. What was once sunlight became blinding as it surrounded the man, obscuring his pale form as if nature itself was on his side. Silence met silence, this possible attacker possibly choosing not to advance.

Were this the man he had now come to challenge?

It was long ago that he had once been challenged by a strange individual, finding the fight interrupted by a strange warp. Now he found himself here, praying this were not to happen again. He layed at the ready in case this being were another possible attacker, or the man he had challenged once more. By habit, once more did his hand find itself scratching his luscious beard.

"Better come on out, buddy! Hate to have you end up like the blokes on the ground, ya know?"

Words spoken strange from someone that did not look the part to sound so incredibly..... Unique. Those who would listen would find themselves falling over in laughter, but yet this man would not be fazed. He would, quite possibly, take the opportunity to avoid the danger and run like hell in the other direction. He was a coward, if his sword strike would not work the first few times, he would take off faster than lightning, which would explain why he had escaped quick four-legged beasts up until this point. Regardless of how fatigue had struck him, he looked ready for another fight. What would happen next?

From a long distance, a very young samurai warrior walked forth slowly on the tainted grassy plains towards the bearded man, not showing any signs of emotion or any hint of what he's thinking. The foul air of blood and death didn't bother him as he continued to shorten the distance between him and the bearded man. The wind blew slightly making his long braided like bangs moving in the direction the wind is blowing.

Going by the name of Yoshitsune Minamoto and having to be at age 16, the young warrior wore a white and red kimono and chest armour with criss crossing red straps on his forehead. His katanas are on both sides of his hips as they rattled quietly with every step he takes. Hanging on a short red string on the right side of his kimono, is a blue crystal that is in a shape of a sphere known as an Amahagane, a crystal that was entrust to him by his deceased father.

Upon each step, the moment of a battle occurring draws closer and closer to him. The sun light touched down his skin and shined on the Amahagane revealing it's existence. He looked up at the sun as he's walking , and saw crow flying and cawing across above the tainted grassland and then circled back around. He took a little breath and continued look straight ahead. Finally entering the "battle ring," he ceased his walking and stared at the bearded man, waiting.......

He beheld the man within the midst of his vision, staring blank and yet filled with honest pride hinted with a bit of his usual cowardish attitude, sweat that had once poured down his brow now glistened on his forehead as it had been mere minutes before the man's arrival. Being that the once lone Samurai had been early it was easy to figure that he had shown up first, but for the moment he had his focus edging on this man's movements. Not contrary to his nobility he walked with a certain step, realizing himself from others on the field of battle, he would be seen directing his attention to the sky, an easy opening for quick decapitation were the Samurai supposed to do so. Boots clamping across grass stamping out the Earth below his feet marched ever closer both in enormous vocals and sight made the man very easy to track, it was a wonder how he had survived this long at all.

Without even the slightest motion of drawing his blade he had come to a halt, standing there possibly stupified by which the man whom challenged him in the first place. Were he not prepared for sudden defeat, seconds slipping past his many years to come as the cold hands of fate grasped what was left of his youth? Heavens stretched down, clouds gathering overhead mentioning the coming storm, the Samurai had gripped the part of the sword which would be natural for gripping, his hand motioned closest to the Tsuka which would edge the blade extending into its scabbard, slowly the glimmering steel slipping until it met a halt, an inch think of the still red steel revealing its tainted form towards his opponent.

A flash of lightning overhead came down to their left, and in a mere moment the man had made his ascent towards the other, sword now being drawn his very Ki itself became visible, its smoke-based form crossing from arm to arm, leg to leg, until his being became cloaked in the very thickness, making him very hard to spot. Afterimages cast like mirrors about his being of course a side-result of this energy, the flash of steel escaping quickly from its chambers awakening its slumber. This man held low, his stance had originated from a swift crouch followed by his left foot sliding forth, and then what followed was his assault. A moment later he had crossed to the man's outer flank, rain pouring down in visible torrents and sheets whilst cloak and steel seemed to swarm in all directions, and yet at the risk of the man's possible defense, the sound of steel entering flesh at horizontal lengths made this a possible victory. In response, what would follow was the fallen form of his foe, glistening red liquid stained by blue droplets pouring outward from the open would in his side, not so a shallow cut as it was fatal.

Yoshitsune watches as the bearded man charges toward him. Just before the bearded man was able to land a hit, Yoshitsune spun out the way in a dance like motion and looked at him. After a second or two, Yoshitsune pulls out his katanas, but they weren't just ordinary katanas. Its blades was red hot and flames danced around it; they were known as The Crimson Swords. they were made from the feathers of the Yatagarasu which Yoshitsune battled a few months back.

The way Yoshitsune holds his katanas was very unusual. In his right hand, he held his crimsoned katana pointed diagonally down. In his left hand, he held it backwards with the crimsoned blade pointed the opposite direction (ninja style-like). He wasn't too amazed by his opponent, since he battled people that were far more worse than the bearded man.


"I fought people who were far more powerful than you." Yoshitsune said as he stands there waiting for the bearded man's attack.