Post by Wanzer on Aug 29, 2011 22:38:05 GMT -4
Convenience and circumstance were two things that Sojukin deeply believed in; however, when it came to combat and other moments of competition that vanished. He had no desire to be shown up and relaxation was something he no longer cared about, still pain wasn’t a desirable reaction to anything and that was exactly what he had felt towards the end of Garve’s kick. Looking down towards his palms, he could see that they were smoldering from the sheer amount of friction that had built up between them and the boulder; even as an arrancar that devised most of his abilities from fire, that was not a good sign. Raising each individual phalange up, a closer examination showed exactly what had occurred. Garve’s extreme strength had caused the boulder to rotate at such an incredible speed that his hierro had been scrapped against and worn down rapidly; flakes of the ‘iron skin’ were dropping off into the infinite sands as smoke raised and his palms showed signs of searing. It took a being with a great deal of raw physical power to do something like that; granted, that was expected of the Primera. Sojukin almost laughed at the mere thought that he might have been stronger than this man; maybe, in a combat sense they could be seen as equals, but in raw strength no. Garve would push him back with the swings of his blade; still, he didn’t know how Garve related in the sense of speed or cunning to him. Scratching his chin, he debated on what to say next; though, his mind was distracted with the feeling of the almost clear stubble growing on his chin. “What should I say…what should I say?”
“Well…in all do honesty Garve. I’ve probably superseded the boundaries of sanity and lunacy more times than anyone could count. If I had to place where I’m at now; I’d call it a state of ‘super’ sanity. More a region where I am externally aware of all of my internal turmoil and have come to a state of peace with it; granted, the peace was more stuffing a mental sock into the ‘other’ voice’s mouth and locking him up in a cage before throwing him into the bottom of a well, but I digress.” Sojukin finished off the statement almost nonchalantly as he returned to running his hand over the stubble on his face; in a rather uncharacteristic fashion which made him uncomfortable. “Why exactly am I doing this and why is it so addictive?” He asked himself in the silence that ensued between the charge up for Garve’s kick and his preparation for that. A slow realization startled him as he recalled that stroking his beard had been one of his old human habits; back when his beard hung down to his chest and was kempt with the finest of combs and oils. So many years had passed since he had recalled such a thing; maybe, the removal of his existential mask had sparked a chain reaction inside of him. Slowly, the memory that had driven him into his insanity and paranoia; it was an old memory something that occurred in his human life and had deprived him of not only that life, but his only dream.
Back in those days, Sojukin had been a warlord riding on the southern islands of Japan and staking his claims where he could; originally, he had been a simple farmer. That all had changed when he realized that the lords of the land were abusing their power and subjugating his people to little more than slavery; warriors constantly came by and took what they wanted, slaughtering those who stood in their way. Unable to stand the constant onslaught against his way of life; Sojukin went to arms and earned wide spread renown. Other farmers and some of the warriors, who felt dishonored, joined his cause and they formed their own fighting force; in combat they were unskilled, but they fought the ‘swine’ that attacked them as they deserved to be attacked. Using sneaking tactics and routing out their rear before they even knew they were there; eventually, their battle experience rivaled most armies and those that were captured were ‘indoctrinated’ into their order. Slowly, Sojukin built up power and the Shogan himself noticed his power; a messenger was sent to him in those days and an alliance was forged.
summons had been inquiry of service to which Sojukin agreed on the condition that the mistreatment of farmers would end; which it soon did, but no good deed ever goes unpunished as one would say. Sojukin’s army posed a threat to the numerous villages about the region; including his own, which no longer recognized him as their own. Once a freedom fighter, Sojukin had become a scourge to his own people; eschewed and becoming bitter. He sank into the depths of depression and hurled himself into warfare; soon becoming known as the bloody serpent of destruction. Land after land was conquered; leaving the Shogun in charge of much of Japan, talks soon escalated over travel to other lands. During these talks, it became apparent to the new Shogun that Sojukin was far more renowned than himself and far more revered; rumors were spreading about him having some interest in the position and fearing this, issued a death warrant. A price of nearly eighty men’s weight in gold was issued up and without missing a beat; the country that had once revered him, set out to destroy him. The greed of man had been Sojukin’s first hurtle to conquer and for years; he avoided the Shogun’s noose and managed to make a living as a rebel rouser. It wasn’t until the year of his death did he finally figure out why it was so hard to make any progress in his ideal; his most trusted advisor had been feeding information to their enemies and it was on that day…every single one of his men perished along with himself. He made one final stand and finally perished; cursing the very ground he stood on and every man that he had ever trusted. A bleak word of paranoia and empty words soon became his life and a shift into narcissism was all that awaited him; sure, there was power coursing through his veins now, but it came at a heavy cost and burden on his soul. As the memory finished, Sojukin had just barely enough time to cover the gap between himself and the boulder now about to move into the goal.
Not really thinking much about what was occurring at the moment; he felt the sudden smack of rock against his chest and was relieved to find it was a weaker kick. Still, it had shoved him back a few feet and inched close to the goal post; seeing as he hadn’t stepped forward since the previous kick. Coughing for a few seconds, he found himself pondering over what Garve said about age; sure, he could guess that he might be older than Garve, but then again age meant nothing here. Power was all that mattered to most beings and for anything else to occur; well, that was just a worthless measure unless it involved combat efficiency. Being fast meant nothing unless it could be used for battle and unless you were a tactician, being clever got you nowhere. In Hueco Mundo, it was said that the man who hit the hardest was king; in this realm, that was currently Death by far, but in years past it really had been just a pissing contest between them. Coinciding into the usual knock-out, drag-outs that most fights on this infernal field of white emerging into. Coughing once again as he threw the boulder back at Garve; he thought about how to respond to the question regarding his goal being fragile.
“My goal is like glass, I suppose. It is very thin, frail and without proper care and considerations; it will shatter never coming to fruition. Every step I take must be carefully trodden and those that I choose to tell; well, they must be able to believe in that same goal and desire the same thing. Without the faith and ability to conceive what I imagine into a reality; well…it can not happen. I probably won’t even be alive to see it occur; not unless a good deal of things change rapidly.”
“Well…in all do honesty Garve. I’ve probably superseded the boundaries of sanity and lunacy more times than anyone could count. If I had to place where I’m at now; I’d call it a state of ‘super’ sanity. More a region where I am externally aware of all of my internal turmoil and have come to a state of peace with it; granted, the peace was more stuffing a mental sock into the ‘other’ voice’s mouth and locking him up in a cage before throwing him into the bottom of a well, but I digress.” Sojukin finished off the statement almost nonchalantly as he returned to running his hand over the stubble on his face; in a rather uncharacteristic fashion which made him uncomfortable. “Why exactly am I doing this and why is it so addictive?” He asked himself in the silence that ensued between the charge up for Garve’s kick and his preparation for that. A slow realization startled him as he recalled that stroking his beard had been one of his old human habits; back when his beard hung down to his chest and was kempt with the finest of combs and oils. So many years had passed since he had recalled such a thing; maybe, the removal of his existential mask had sparked a chain reaction inside of him. Slowly, the memory that had driven him into his insanity and paranoia; it was an old memory something that occurred in his human life and had deprived him of not only that life, but his only dream.
Back in those days, Sojukin had been a warlord riding on the southern islands of Japan and staking his claims where he could; originally, he had been a simple farmer. That all had changed when he realized that the lords of the land were abusing their power and subjugating his people to little more than slavery; warriors constantly came by and took what they wanted, slaughtering those who stood in their way. Unable to stand the constant onslaught against his way of life; Sojukin went to arms and earned wide spread renown. Other farmers and some of the warriors, who felt dishonored, joined his cause and they formed their own fighting force; in combat they were unskilled, but they fought the ‘swine’ that attacked them as they deserved to be attacked. Using sneaking tactics and routing out their rear before they even knew they were there; eventually, their battle experience rivaled most armies and those that were captured were ‘indoctrinated’ into their order. Slowly, Sojukin built up power and the Shogan himself noticed his power; a messenger was sent to him in those days and an alliance was forged.
summons had been inquiry of service to which Sojukin agreed on the condition that the mistreatment of farmers would end; which it soon did, but no good deed ever goes unpunished as one would say. Sojukin’s army posed a threat to the numerous villages about the region; including his own, which no longer recognized him as their own. Once a freedom fighter, Sojukin had become a scourge to his own people; eschewed and becoming bitter. He sank into the depths of depression and hurled himself into warfare; soon becoming known as the bloody serpent of destruction. Land after land was conquered; leaving the Shogun in charge of much of Japan, talks soon escalated over travel to other lands. During these talks, it became apparent to the new Shogun that Sojukin was far more renowned than himself and far more revered; rumors were spreading about him having some interest in the position and fearing this, issued a death warrant. A price of nearly eighty men’s weight in gold was issued up and without missing a beat; the country that had once revered him, set out to destroy him. The greed of man had been Sojukin’s first hurtle to conquer and for years; he avoided the Shogun’s noose and managed to make a living as a rebel rouser. It wasn’t until the year of his death did he finally figure out why it was so hard to make any progress in his ideal; his most trusted advisor had been feeding information to their enemies and it was on that day…every single one of his men perished along with himself. He made one final stand and finally perished; cursing the very ground he stood on and every man that he had ever trusted. A bleak word of paranoia and empty words soon became his life and a shift into narcissism was all that awaited him; sure, there was power coursing through his veins now, but it came at a heavy cost and burden on his soul. As the memory finished, Sojukin had just barely enough time to cover the gap between himself and the boulder now about to move into the goal.
Not really thinking much about what was occurring at the moment; he felt the sudden smack of rock against his chest and was relieved to find it was a weaker kick. Still, it had shoved him back a few feet and inched close to the goal post; seeing as he hadn’t stepped forward since the previous kick. Coughing for a few seconds, he found himself pondering over what Garve said about age; sure, he could guess that he might be older than Garve, but then again age meant nothing here. Power was all that mattered to most beings and for anything else to occur; well, that was just a worthless measure unless it involved combat efficiency. Being fast meant nothing unless it could be used for battle and unless you were a tactician, being clever got you nowhere. In Hueco Mundo, it was said that the man who hit the hardest was king; in this realm, that was currently Death by far, but in years past it really had been just a pissing contest between them. Coinciding into the usual knock-out, drag-outs that most fights on this infernal field of white emerging into. Coughing once again as he threw the boulder back at Garve; he thought about how to respond to the question regarding his goal being fragile.
“My goal is like glass, I suppose. It is very thin, frail and without proper care and considerations; it will shatter never coming to fruition. Every step I take must be carefully trodden and those that I choose to tell; well, they must be able to believe in that same goal and desire the same thing. Without the faith and ability to conceive what I imagine into a reality; well…it can not happen. I probably won’t even be alive to see it occur; not unless a good deal of things change rapidly.”