A new order.

[Kunoichi]

After a long day's outing, Sol sits alone in her room at the Four Lanterns. Her face dimly lit by the soft candlelight ambiance as she rests idly against her desk, chin in hand and parchment splayed before her. The many books stacked against he walls and furniture seemed to crowd her into her own detached world.

So long had she wished that her actions held greater, higher meaning in the land of Sundren. Forever, it seemed, she had longed for a purer calling and purpose in her life---to not be another pawn in the world's game, but to be useful for those who sought her knowledge. A beacon of knowing and lore, someone people could rely on.

Even in her apprenticeship under the tutelage of Mizrahi, her aspirations to join the Right, she had saw little meaning in herself. How she had studied and practiced daily, read all that was tangible about the arcane and about golem-engineering. It was as though everything had sunk into a void of nothingness... none of it would matter in the end, she thought.

"Everything I do is for me now."

Peering down below her hands rests a large parchment containing rather interesting blueprints of a building of some sort. She stares at it a while before making some corrections in various places and rests her quill. There seems to be a classroom, an office, a summoning chamber, and a small dormitory.

"Perhaps then, my dreams may come true now."

Her mind wandered over Snow's shameless announcement of her wish, of how she had wanted to serve the people. Her entire anti-social and detached facade had been busted in one single swipe of his words. To teach and be trusted in knowledge, and to construct a place to do so. She had unwittingly helped construct the blade which would kill the devil Vachbathus, and in turn serve Sundren without previously knowing such.

She had wondered what people thought of her now. Cruel and unforgiving came to mind, but did they really know her? Perhaps, they only new the masquerade she played with such innate ability. Her knowledge burdened her greatly as her skill in the arcane grew. The power to instantly slay a man, or dominate his mind, or turn him into a block of stone... such powers existed, and their doings weighed heavily on her.

"How can I smile and be a friend when such things exist in my control?"

Turning her gaze she spies Mirumoto in the corner of the room, having entered sometime during her thoughts. He sits quietly as well drawing his brush over a scroll in graceful, rhythmical strokes. Barely a sound ever escapes his movements as he works with ease in his artistic endeavors. Now in her service, she would do all she could to maintain his honor---as a friend, companion, bodyguard, and the second-in-command of her new found order... and his tea was always excellent.

"I've another poem for you, Miru." She chimes.

[Kunoichi]

She stumbles back into her room, grasping her right arm heavily as the splintered pieces of metal fray from the enraged samurai's beatings. It was nearly useless at this point, however it was suitable in defending herself against the blade she had helped to enchant. The one she had entrusted would be used to fight evil. She plopped down on her bed, folding over the various occurrences that transpired today. Her mind wondered over the violent samurai Snow, and how he had practically forced her into his ideal of honor, into combat of which she had no wish to partake in.

"I am glad Miru is not here to see this."

Looking to her side, her work on the mechanical arm to replace the one she herself had lost... fighting a demon no less, she sighed deeply. The cuts were many and deep, the gnashes of the enchanted katana deeply severing what she had tried so hard to replicate in an attempt to make her life easier. Wondering now to herself if Mirumoto's "honor" would cause him to chase others down in peaceful settings on ways of not being able to compose his anger. If he, too, would draw his blade against those who were unarmed and in attempt to settle his visions.

Her mind scatters now over the various occurences that could have gone through Snow's head. Was he not able to recognize her recitations in defense... if he had so expertly attacked her even as she tried to escape his "honor?" Had he not drawn his blades in anger at her first, in the sight of others who refused to even lift a hand? Nevertheless, in sight of many others... and one who had sworn to uphold the law. No, he would not have let her escape. He would use the excuse that she was preparing some horrible spell for him, of course.

"No, this blade would not be used for a man's revenge... at his leisure."

Only Osclow's words had comforted her that evening as they both agreed the fabled Unbound Blade was indeed, in the wrong hands... and needed to be destroyed. For it was used recklessly then, and should others be assaulted by the samurai would come to a less fortunate fate. To be in the hands of one who would use it so freely, unboundly, where-as before he had promised to place it forever in the heart of a demon to seal it for eternity.

Had this samurai's greed and lust for power overcome his true goal?

[Peridan]

Mirumoto made his way soundlessly to the top of the Four Lanterns Inn. The night was warm and for once, dry. He carried with him a small bag with parchment, brush, and ink as well as a lantern. Once on top of the roof, he hopped nimbly to his favorite position overlooking the land of Sundren. It was almost completely night, just the last few stray farmers leading their livestock into the barn and the few wisps of sunlight dancing their way over the mountains. Mirumoto unpacked his items and lay the parchment over the flat rooftop of the inn. He pulled back his sleeve, and dipped his brush into the ink, watching the thistles soak up the ebony ink. He held it in the air for a moment and continued to watch the evening roll in. Motionless, he began to think.

What was he doing here? For someone who is never to be without a purpose, he was ironically unclear on it. He was a samurai, he knew that. He held his honor highly and the honor of his lord...or lady higher still. He knew that he was sent here on a 'diplomatic mission' between nations. And while a samurai will never disobey an order from his Lord or Lady, he knew that questioning them was his right as a warrior who followed the code of Bushido. His arm began to move of its own volition, as he continued to muse his current situation.

The Red Blades had released him from his oaths, something that was practically unheard of. When he tried to get in to protect Eriar, he was threatened to be dishonored by sending a message to his home nation of Shou. A direct violation of an order from the Emperor himself....his entire clan would have to commit seppku. So he stayed, lordless and homeless.

His arm began to move faster, more sharp than he would have liked if he was paying attention.

But then the Lady Sol had taken him in....not just as a Lady, but as a confidant and friend. His notion of tradition and his own culture became more and more tangled and confused the longer he stayed here. And yet he was starting to enjoy it. Of course, not actual joy, but a pale imitation of joy that was the extent of his rather stunted emotions. Years of discipline and service could not be destroyed in just a day, and he was beginning to wonder if it would not be for the best. His talks with Lady Sol had been most enjoyable, and she was far more vulnerable than she would like to admit.

For instance, she had thought that he didn't see her come in the other night. Battered and bloodied, he had to physically restrain himself to rush to her aid and demand who had done this to her. He knew that her pride would not allow her to answer, and so he sought other rumours of that night. This Snowhawk...he had dared strike his Lady? Insults of honor are one thing, to be properly fought warrior to warrior. If he had sought such a duel, then it was Mirumoto's responsibility! Not hers!

But she was just a child! He mused to himself. Perhaps not a child, but her innocence made her seem so at times. To strike a woman, one who had made no attempt to even cast an offensive spell at him. He knew this because there was no possible way for her to strike first and not to lose. He knew first hand how spells can decimate the mightiest leigons of samurai, no matter how skilled. His hand tightened around the brush slightly, but it snapped easily. He looked at the ink dripping form his hand, that could easily be mistaken for blood in the night. This would not be forgotten. He knew that his Lady had enchanted Snowhawk's blade beyond the ken of mortals and gods alike. He had to search for a way to defeat him, no matter what. Not simply because of his Lady's honor was at stake....but because she was his friend, something new to him. When he thought of it, his heart began to hurt, and his vision became cloudy with the beginnings of rage.

No. I am a samurai. I do not feel, I am a warrior. I follow my Bushido, and I preserve my master's honor.

Mirumoto stood and made his way back into the inn. He left the forgotten painting on the top of the inn, letting it fly away into the warm summer night.

[Kunoichi]

It had been many days since the incident and she had plenty of time to think about it and disassociate herself. There was no use writhing in the events that surpassed that evening, and no good was going to come from vengeful wishes. So, she focused her mind on others things. Profitable things, both to herself and those she had taken as comrades. After all, they had done many things to advance her not only in achievement but as a person.

Her apprenticeship, her dissertation, her blueprints, her companion and allies---there were so many more things to occupy her mind now that she had little time or wish to be angry any longer. Instead, she sat once again in her study as she worked busily on the blueprints. She had been managing her finances to compensate for the large aspiration, however she had found herself unable not to reward her loyal samurai. Her building had come second to her now, and her warrior priority.

He had worked feverishly hard that passing day, and those before it. Maintaining his typically calm demeanor and humbly taking her own requests as his commands. However, even though she had felt he deserved a reward, although it was more of a gift in her thinking. A gift to a loyal, noble friend who would drink tea with her, exchange his interesting stories, and trade poems and dreams of his craft.

"I would like to infuse your armor with my abilities." She had said to him previously. He had graciously nodded and responded with his honor in partaking in such, and she had already known of his thankfulness. The gesture, to her, was not of Lady and knight---but one of friendship. Regardless, her friendship would always take second-priority under the samurai's duties. This was how it was, would, and will be for the future and she was admittedly fine with it.

She would not let her selfishness impede the great honor of her samurai. A man bound by duty and honor; this would come before it. However, as a friend she would always recognize this and help in her part to maintain these oaths. It was her new calling---no, it was her responsibility as his Lady to uphold this tradition. She would have nothing else, and assumed that this would be most honorable in his eyes.

Having told him of her wishes to offer her blessings, she asked him to meet her in a designated location for the proceeding of the ritual. Upon arriving, Mirumoto had approached her carrying a large pack over his shoulder. Panting heavily, he lowered his head as if in shame.

"Lady Sol... please... allow me to explain." He panted heavily as sweat dotted his brow. "Lady, my armor... while old, is an important heirloom to my Clan." Nodding, she looked on to him with approval at his plight. He knelt as he spoke, as if her presence were above his own. "While I would rejoice in it becoming stronger, it would dishonor my clan if I were to tamper with tradition. And so..." From his shoulder, he lowered the pack he had brought in. Carefully removing the bindings, revealing starkly crimson armor against a dark base. The metal shone vividly in the ambiance as he slowly uncovered the rest. Skillfully, he gathered it up into his arms and lifted it for her to view.

"I had a new set made, specifically in your colors." Spoken softly, his head nodded lowly with the armor in full presentation.

He had not know it, or seen it perhaps, but a glimpse of a tear had gathered in her eye. Having seen such unbridled loyalty, even without her request, had moved something inside her very being. Never before had she been subjected to such a gesture before. Blinking a few times, as if to dismiss her glistening eyes, "You did not... have to do this. I am honored."

"Any gift that you bestow upon me, I should at least honor you with it." His voice demonstrated. Fierce traditional shone strongly in his dark eyes, however serene they had appeared to others. He had bowed deeply to her, presenting the armor to her as if willing to subject himself to any distaste she may had harbored at this gesture.

Nodding slowly, she took the armor from him as he remained in his low bow. The reagents she had gathered for this very moment seemed so useless in the stead of his trained composure. Even in this moment, she dutifully arranged the ritual of enchantment. The suit of exotic armor shone brightly as the magic embedded itself into every niche of its form. The vivid crimson of its pieces glittered brightly as if a fire was lit inside them, before humming slowly into passiveness. And so it was done, the armor infused with the abilities she had offered. Turning slowly, she gestured for her samurai to take his newly impressed gift. Bowing lowly again, he extended his arms to gather it before slowly piecing it onto his person at her gesture.

"I am honored." He stated as if to declaring his words to the entire land itself. As they both sat kneeling on the floor, Mirumoto quietly made tea as she gazed out into the night sky. The stars shone brightly, although Miru performed his tasks with practiced excellence. She saw that sometimes even his eyes were closed, as if absorbing his moments of duty.

At this moment she finally realized. Although she had been attacked by the samurai Snow Hawk, she finally understood the duty and honor he had to bear. It was most likely not his wish to do so, but it was his oath and binds that drew his assault. Even in these foreign lands, if he strayed from his path he would be without his honor... and to her, imagining Mirumoto losing his honor---it was not imaginable.

Sipping her tea quietly now, her mind spread itself deeply over the strange lands in which her samurai and Snow Hawk had hailed from. The honor and its privileges wrought from service. The people in this distant land were enigmatic to her even now, however somewhere in her mind she believed they were as peaceful, intelligent, and dedicated as her samurai.

[Peridan]

It was raining again.

Mirumoto disliked many things about this country, but the rain was the worst of it. It always rained, the water falling from the sky like too many arrows, covering the land with water and cold. He missed the warmth of his lands. The flowers bloomed there after a rain, while they were never given a chance to blossom here for fear of drowning. He missed the large plateaus and mountains that jutted out of the rolling mists like so many spears into the sky.

Mirumoto was outside, stripped to the waist in the pouring rain. His katana lay in his hand, the water dripping from the sword like the blood of enemies after a battle. He was motionless, simply breathing. He was no master of the blade, but this much he could do. He could not-be. He could remove whatever ego he had, and simply be one with the rain and the cold and the earth. His belt glowed with an inner flame, and without any preamble his muscles surged and he moved.

His blade sliced through the air in the traditional strikes of the samurai. The Kesa Giri, the strike from the neck to the opposite armpit. The Do, an abdomen cut. The Kiriage, the opposite of the Kesa Giri. The Kote, a wrist cut to disarm. The Ski, a thrust to the throat and eyes. And finally the Men, the vertical strike from above down into the opponents skull. As he finished his traditional strikes, his motions became more fluid, more open. He began to move faster, his sword strikes slicing through the air leaving a trail of air behind them. His muscles rippled as he moved, until the strikes were not distinguishable from one another because one simply could not see them. The only sounds that could be heard were his tempered breathing and the high pitched sound of a razor slicing through the rain.

As abruptly as he had started, he froze mid swing. Around him the rain collapsed on the space where his sword had previously denied it entrance. He breathed heavily as he slowly sheathed his blade.

But the one thing he missed the most about his country was....he shook his head. It escaped him, the thing he missed the most. He only remembered green, dancing eyes that looked at him with such...something.

Mirumoto sighed. Perhaps it would come in time. Such as his battle with Snow hawk. It would come, but only when he least expected it and very probably at the worst possible moment. A grim smile escaped his lips. Yes, his Lady Sol's honor would be right, even if it cost him his life. She had enchanted the new armor that he had made in her colors, and he was deeply honored that she sought to bestow the gift upon him. However, it was a means to an end. He must be able to fight on equal terms with Snow hawk, or else he would dishonor her further by losing the battle. A soft look came into his eye when he remembered her obvious delight at the armor in her crimson and black.

He would do anything to keep that look on her face, to keep her safe and happy. His honor depended on it, and truth be told, he wanted to do it. It was not simply a duty, but a pleasure.

He sighed again and rubbed his neck. Perhaps a cup of sake was in order. Maybe even Lady Sol would join him, taking a break from designing her tower. He took his shirt and cloak, hanging mostly dry under a nearby tree and walked off into the watery night.

[Kunoichi]

Her quill had been rather busy that today. Scribbling viciously away on the unrolled parchment that was her blueprint, she finally exhales in deep satisfaction before reclining back in her chair. It was finally done, for the most part. Now, she only need to find a location and contact a contractor to assess whether or not it could be managed, and the price of such a structure.

Pausing for a brief moment after examining it, she motions for Mirumoto to come foward and offer his opinion. The blueprint was obviously smudged and albiet a bit worn from her constant modifications, although it was still readable in the least.

[ OVER 9000 HOURS IN MSPAINT! ]

[Peridan]

Mirumoto stretched and wiped his brow of the sweat from the midday sun. The farmer whose field he was tending to waved over at him to come inside and have a drink. Mirumoto waved back, and slung his reaping scythe over his shoulder, leaving the fields to be finished tomorrow.

Lady Sol had been busy as of late, preparing herself for her presentation to the Masters, and so Mirumoto found himself with rather less to do. Since she was relatively safe (if one discounts the possibility of her casting something wrong and blowing the inn to kingdom come) he found that it was best to leave her alone. These farmers, for instance, needed an extra hand now that the harvest was in. Mirumoto had happened to be passing while on a walk, and so they diplomatically asked him to help. Of course, he could not refuse a cry for aid, regardless of how mundane, and Sol was better left alone at this point. She was almost frantic, making sure that she knew everything by heart to be able to present her new golem to her masters.

Mirumoto found his shirt hanging up on a rather large oak tree, and he stopped to stare and admire it. Its branches twirled and reached for the heavens, trying so hard to just get that extra inch higher. Just like his Lady. She was always trying so hard to grasp that one extra bit of knowledge, that final piece of whatever puzzle she is working on. In a way she was like his people, consistently dedicated to whatever they do no matter what.

He accepted the glass of cold water sitting on the front porch. It's chill shocked his hand a little, and the moisture was running off the sides and across the back of his hand. He took a long drink, allowing the chill to spread through his entire body. Her masters. That was a tricky subject. Particularly Mizrahi. While he was somewhat insulted at being called "muscles" the previous night, he knew that calling him out would be the last thing that he ever did, and he could not ever comprehend leaving Sol alone. Dying was part of his duty, but he would like to avoid it, not because he was afraid, but because of the duties he would leave behind.

That business with the golem had unsettled him. Particularly the bit with the lightning shooting out and grasping her by the neck. While Mirumoto would never question her, because he trusted her, he did wonder if perhaps there was a limit to the amount of knowledge that a mortal should tamper with. But again, she knew what she was doing, and so he should trust her.

As he walked back to his inn, waving to the farmers and promising he would be back tomorrow, he wondered what the future might hold for Lady Sol and himself. If anything, it should be interesting.