Samurai Legends

A heavy set man, he has red eyes and red armor he has long black hair and a charm, he has a katana by his side, The name of it is shishi oh, the year is 1577 the year of samurais and demons, He is Heishiro Mitsurugi The LEgendary Samurai himself, he grins showing his vampiric fangs as he walks down the Path towards Nagasaki.

Heh....looks like there is a heat of a battle here..

He would sit upon the hill and await the battle grinning lightly as he waited for the right moment to strike upon the unsuspecting humans and demons.

I can tell now....That this is going to be one hell of a party!

He also is sitting upon the hill looking down upon his home town which he was bron and raised in.

OOC: Well i dont know if this is exactly the thing yall are looking for but hey i love samurais.

Dark Descendant's gaze continues onwards, Form continues to move forwards, Seeming to stagger slightly as she moves in this quickened motion. Daito swaying to and fro at her side.

She allows a hand to rest upon the tsuka of her Daito. The tsuba gleaming slightly under her tattered cloak as the sunlight shines upon it's surface. The sun's rays seeming to crawl up the grassy fields like vines. The fields themselves seeming to spread out further than an eye could see.

She finally comes to a hault, The female's breathing now able to be heared as she breathes deeply, her obviously having travelled for a long time and now warn out from such a trip.

She allows a pale hand to come out, Pressing the palm against the bark of a tree as she continues to attempt to catch her breathe, Head bowing slightly as she takes slight harsh breaths.

After a few moments the female seems to catch her breathe, Gaze now shifting onwards once more, Ocean blue orbs shifting about in their sockets. Her form seeming to glow a mixture of golden colours as the sunlight continues to shine upon her form.

Her gaze shifts up to the sunlight that is beaming through the thick layers of leaves. A look of irritation now clearly visable spreading across her pale face as she remains standing.

She shakes her head not being able to see far as the hills seem to spread for miles before disappearing into the distance, She would obviously have to get to a better level of height.

Her pale blue orbs adverted upwards, Transfixing upon a high hanging, thick branch, She hesitated for a moment before moving back for a moment, Her feet seeming to align as she gets ready to leap.

She grins somewhat before breaking into a small run, More like a mere jog towards the trunk of the large tree. A look of mere determination now visable in her eyes.

She leaps forwards, Form seeming to flow fluently through the air towards the trunk of the tree, Feet seeming to kick out infront of her leaping form as her frame ascends towards the tree trunk.

She feels her feet impact the bark of the tree, Heels imbedding in the bark for mere moments as she leaps to the side, Arms coming out in a fluent motion, Catching hold of the branch.

She allows a smirk to spread across her lips. As if this had made her happy somehow. She began to swing on the branch, Legs coming back down and her form going into a full swing.

Her form flows through the air once more, Grip being released from it's tight grip around the branch as she seems to flip around the branch, Now landing upon it in a crouched position.

She grins once more, Hand coming to the tsuka of her Daito once more, It's Jindachi - Zukuri tsuka gleaming slightly as it remains suspended from her waist, A rope tied tightly around the scabbards.

This look of relaxation upon her face is soon replaced with one of an arched brow moments later as she then sees a man, Sat upon a hill a few metres away.

She allows this brow to be arched, Orbs shifting up and down the being's form, Narrowing upon the gleams that seem to be coming from some sort of fangs.

Her gaze then locks upon the man's blade. A katana, A samurai katana. She frowns slightly, Gaze shifting to her own Ken mounted Tanto at her side. It's surface only just visable from under her tattered cloak.

She remains perched upon this branch, Eyes upon his form as he allows words to flow from his mouth. These words echoing around for a further few moments before disappearing into the distance.

'....Strange..That It is..' She murmers to herself, Allowing these words to flow from her parted lips, Almost silent as the words echo around her crouched form.

The male would look solumnly at the female as she did what she was doing, he would then rsume looking down upon the unsuspecting humans.

Now is when they die....

He would bring himself to take a few solumn steps towards thepeople he would start off into a dash. He would grip the hilt of his sword as he withdrew it forcefully, it slashing through the wind with the utmost of power sending a wave of Energy and wind towards all of the unsuspecting pitiful people down below. He would watch as they were all sliced in half, blood spilling everywhere.

Himura Kenshin cried out as he saw A man slice into a group of demons and humans. He did not like death, and he carried a sakabato to keep his resolve firm. He came in front of the man who attacked and readied his sword. "You have no reason to kill these people," he said lightly.

((this is on a dare))

Lilliana sat back and watched as a man sliced through a group of demons and humans. The bloodlust she felt toward death was inpregnable and unsatisfiable. She licked her lips lightly as she continued to watch the massacre happen.

Jiro Okawara sat as quietly, legs crossed, his hands resting lightly on his knees. The sounds of nature flowed to him, around him, into him. The merest ruffle caused by the gentle wind brought to an echo of life, sounds and more importantly information.

The silk hitatare, a rich blue color, billowed as the wind caressed his lean frame. His hair, wisped in the wind as the topknot held the rich blue-black hair in place, the few strands that flowed as the winds lifted them, seemed as in place upon his angular features as the swords that lay on the ground before him.

Jiro his eyes closed as his senses flowed out and embraced the world around him, becoming still and silent, his every breath seemed to coincide with the gentle rush of breezes that swirled around his form.

As the gentle gusts touched his flesh, Jiro focused on the wind, he was the wind, his mind unfettered as he contemplated the significance of the wind. As he did so, a sound, a brief rustle of cloth, a whisper of bark contacting flesh, a creak of wood. Opening the honey-brown eye, Jiro sat silently and waited. The answer would come soon enough, the source of the movement, would reveal the cause for it. The face, calm and smooth, betrayed nothing as the man known as Jiro simply waited.

Then it came, a burst of speed, a slash and blood. Cries and wails arose, yet Jiro remained still, the breeze carried all this to him. Crimson drops touched green; the faces of those who faced the horror that had descend upon them twisted in fear. Exhaling slowly, evenly, Jiro allowed the wind to continue the story. A Bakemono had made it’s presence known, indeed as had many other Yokai that had made the same mistake, this creature would be hunted and destroyed.

Closing his eyes again, Jiro began meditating to Izanagi, the senses of Jiro seemed to extend beyond normal, it was as if he were an apparition as he rose from his seated position and began walking along the winds towards the source of the disturbance. Before long, Jiro stood and watched the Bakemono slay the helpless, a sight that made Jiro lower his head in embarrassment as it seemed the vile creature had been once a Samurai.

Raising his head once again, Jiro simply stepped around the bodies, watching the creature as it moved, as it wield it’s swords of death. A grim line set along his lips, the honey-brown eyes bore into the demon, merely watching, merely watching.