Samurai-style Spar Request.

(Just as the title suggests, I wish to fight against a samurai-type swordsman character with one of my own. Non-fantasy, realistic melee rules. Here is the profile.)

Name: Inomono Tasuke

Gender: Male

Age: 26

Height: 5'10

Weight: 155 lbs

Occupation: Swordsman

Weapon Discipline: Katana

(I will post an entrance once a reply and profile has been put up in response.)

i might take something up on that.

I don't fight very well, though, so I'd be giving a win to you anyways. Which means I'd focus a bit more on story and the conflict between the two characters. IE, why they're fighting.

If someone better than I comes along and offers, then feel free to take them up. If not, then I guess I'm your girl.

Name: Kaihaku Ookami

Gender: Male

Age: 22

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 167 lbs.

Occupation: Ronin

Discipline: Katana

So whenever your ready!

(I guess I'll take the ronin.)

The gentle burp of the bubbling stream gave more than a bit of relaxing tune in symphony to the songs of the forest. The hymns of birds and locusts amidst the dense trees and shrubbery gave proper peace amidst the rolling waters, cast silver in the glitter of afternoon sun. Pebbles of gray and white lined the banks for a blending contrast that only amplified the viridian paradise, golden rays leaked through the canopy in an image of pristine beauty unique to the rural locale.

Within such settling scenery a different visage of handsomeness rested, the shorthaired man of scintillating obsidian kimono near the whispering water comfortable while he sat leisurely with his back against a thick trunk. For the while he absorbed the sounds of nature as he kept his arms crossed over his chest and hidden within opposite sleeves, his bent in right leg raised for added coziness. The pleasantness of the wind kissed his noticeably charming face as Tasuke rested with eyes closed, and black bangs in need of a trim likewise licked his forehead in the grip of the cool breeze. The lightest of smiles could be perceived, though within his mind it was far from a calm.

The harmony of the forest helped to take his minds off the past. A history rich with the bloodshed of many who simply did not deserve to die. Nevertheless, in his former insanity the very katana that now slept in its emerald house parallel to his left hip had been utilized to hew asunder all manner of men. Women and children were no exception. It was times such as these that he could separate himself the memories of their horrified faces and blood-chilling screams of terror...thankfully those days were behind him.

Still, in a war-torn country like Japan, he knew that even with the ending of one path of carnage, another may well loom before him; at least his reasons for killing would no longer be for personal ecstasy. At least he had these short distractions and moments of recollection to keep the demon within from becoming sated with the slicing of human flesh. At least he had that little bit of comfort...the short lull amidst the turbulence of the killing urge.

Stands of loose black hair tickled along his face as he made his way along the trail which ran parallel to the trickling stream. It might have been a warm summer day it wasn't for his gasa to shield his face from the warm rays of the midday sun. Sliding his left hand from inner folds of his brown kimono and letting it come to rest upon the hilt of his sword which caused small smile to crest the corners of his mouth. Touching Shikon, he could feel its wanting, its longing for blood but he knew that its longing was only an extension of his own longing to shed blood. Lips curling downward and his smile faded again as he made his way along the small trail.

Coming around a right handed bend in the trail which easly followed the trickling silver stream, he stopped dead in his tracks. Gray eyes fell upon the man who leaned casually against a large tree trunk and his left hand instantly, without even a concious thought, snapped behind the tsuba of his sword. Trained, precise eyes flowed easily over the man and taking note of his sword which was still on his belt and sheathed, he let out a breath he didn't even remember holding. Bringing his right hand up to the brim of his gasa and lifting it every slow slightly, his eyes glinted almost silver in the midday sun which was now being filtered through a canopy of leaves.

As he looked at this man, his eyes appeared to be in a distant place. Cries for help of people being burned alive in their homes, screams of the dying and slaughtered and faces. So many faces flashed before his eyes. Faces of so many men, women and children. Though he would never claim to have let Shikon taste the blood of children and only ever have allowed it to taste the blood of a single woman. Her face above all others stood before him now, haunting his ever waking and sleeping moment for it was with her death that had caused him to realize his path of bloodshed and death would eventually lead him to his own death.

Reflection shattered by nearby sound, the scraping of sandals upon the stony ground. Tasuke slowly opened his dark gaze and looked toward the source, quick to size up the man dressed similar to himself. It didn't take long to notice the sword he carried. At its sight he matched gazes with the traveler, his own unmistakably intense. Perhaps the man would register it as malice, but he wouldn't be very close to the truth. Tasuke sought to gain some insight into the man's mastery of the blade: an air of confidence, a calculating demeanor, anything that would betray the shield most people erected when someone attempted a first-time dissection of them. Above all he desired to know the man's reasons for carrying the weapon; self-protection was the most common, but he sought to go deeper. Did he kill those that wished to harm him, or was he methodical in disposal so that even the enemy could live to see tomorrow? Was he rather ruthless or merciful? Did he despise murder?

...or did he enjoy it?

In time, Tasuke scooped his katana into his left hand, gripped just underneath the hilt guard whilst he rose to his feet. Standing at full height, he stepped into the traveler''s path and stood firm, both arms idle at his sides as he gave him another piercing gaze of analysis. Would the man find some sort of threat at his intimidating stare, or simply brush him off and be on his way? Whatever the reaction, an answer to the early inquiry was desired. And the man's life or death would hinge upon the answer. "Tell me," he said strongly, more of a demand than a request. "Why do you carry a sword, other than for self-defense?"

Silence filled the gulf betwixt the pair of swordsmen, but until it could be replaced with words, the only thing to permeate the surrounding forest music was the desire Tasuke had to kill. His question would probe into the traveler's heart, and in time the truth would be revealed...and perchance confronted in a song of silvery steel.

Ookami never let his gaze faulter from the lone samurai. Even as he made his way up onto the trail with his katana in hand, Ookami never moved other then to let his eyes follow the man every step of the way. He could sense it and so could Shikon. This man's desire to kill. To shed blood and caress steel with steel. Almost in a trance, he was brought back to full realization by the man's question.

"Self-Defense? Self-preservation would be more accurate. That is one reason yes but that doesn't answer your question," Ookami's voice was smooth without a trace of hesitation within its cords, "I have lived by the blade since I was a child having killed for the first time at the age of eight and since then. Well since then the number to have fallen at my blade has become to numerous to count. I carry this katana..." he pulled his katana which was still sheathed in its crimson saya from his belt and held it out before him, "...to slay those who stop my path of redemption and to sate the ever growing hunger for blood that boils beneath my chest,"

Closing his eye as he finish the last words, his arm bringing his sheathed katana down to his side and then his eyes came open. Where once had been grey now was a bright silver, as if an inner demon had been unlocked and would only retreat after blood had been shed. Left foot sliding backwards so that it was almost in a straight line with his right foot, though it was off center to the left by about a foot. This would be his center of balance. Left arm bringing his sheathed katana to his hip with the hilt facing torwards the trickeling stream and his right hand would slowly close over the worn hilt of Shikon.

"Why do you carry a sword?"