The Legend of Shura (Fantasy)

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This is just some writing that I've done in my spare time. With Taluntain's permission, I would like to post some short passages I've written about my namesake, Shura the Swordsman in my subsequent posts.
Criticism would be most welcome.

 

Criticism?

Never.

Only flames from me.

 

It sounds quite intriguing.... not much to say yet...

 

just remember you need a critism between your posts, else you will have to edit them, because doubleposting no longer is possible

 

(Well, here is the first post then.)
The wind caused the snow to swirl in tight revolutions around the two swordsmen facing
each other. Both were knee deep in the packed and solidified liquid that covered most of the land every year but neither seemed to care.
Shura, the greatest blademaster of his time, was a large man in his late-thirties. His black hair was held back by a leather cord and his clean shaven face was etched with lines which came from surviving countless battles. Frost gathered on his thick brows but his stare never faltered, never wavered from his opponent before him, a youth who had only witnessed the falling of the snow and turning of the seasons less than fifteen times.
A crow cawed, the sound seemingly out of place in such weather but both swordsmen had no time to ponder such a strange event as it acted like a cue for them to leap forward. Shura's jump brought his feet to land atop the packed snow. With amazing agility he ran forward, his feet not sinking into the soft surface the slightest bit. Ahead, his opponent did the same, dashing forward across the snow with ease. Shura felt a slight shiver of pride as the youth seemed to glide towards him, avoiding the sweep of his sword with an almost contemptous ease. Shura's second blow came in the form of a powerful upper-slash towards the youth who had to leap into the air to avoid the first blow. The youth twisted his body in mid-air and the blade missed him by a quarter inch.
"Amazing!" Shura thought as the youth's tall form landed lightly before him. Every opponent who had faced him before was dead within two blows. The youth snapped his body forward like a whip with one foot remaining in it's original position his arms extended, a sword clutched in each fist, the right blade being three and a half feet long and the left one a foot long.
Shura blocked the longer sword but the short blade tore past his fine garmet, between his ribs and into his heart. His own sword fell from nerveless fingers and the youth spun, his momentum unhalted, tearing his short sword loose and lashing out repeatedly with both blades. Shura was reduced to a limbless and bloody torso lying on the snow.
" Well done, my pupil.." Shura was filled with a fierce joy and pride that he had never known in his entire harsh and bloody life before his eyes glazed over in death. The youth standing over the body of Shura was breathing hard, his arms trembling with the horror of his deed. Cold sweat poured down his body despite the chill as he gazed at his Sensei's body before him. A dull ache in his soul that would be so familiar in his long, long life washed over him. He would identify it as grief later. Turning on his heel, the youth walked away, his teeth gritted, face tensed to hold back tears.

 

sucks

 

Very nice, though it really bothered me the way you described the snow at first, just call it snow, not packed and solidified liquid, this is a story, not a science experiment.

[Actually solidified liquid water would be ice, not snow. Ehm...] -Tal

[This message has been edited by Taluntain (edited September 10, 2001).]

 

Would you care to elaborate on why it sucks Arkados Blackmire? After all, it must suck to you for a reason. Please, tell us why. I am sure that Shura would appreciate it in some form or another.

 

Shura -- I enjoyed it, especially the beginning. Your characterization of the swordsman was incredible.

During the fight scene . . . I thought it went to quickly. Yeah, Shura had trained his pupil to strike quickly, but given what I know of the character, I doubted that he would let the blade through that easily. That's your choice and it didn't ruin the story. I also know about Shura's ring, so maybe he let his pupil strike knowing that he would recover. (?)

 

Well I think it is a good story. And I don't think it's wrong thst you describe the environment very detailed... So you get a picture in your mind, not only of the two knights that are fighting but also where they are fighting etc.

Well done!

 

haha, cos im Shura's good friend (in real life). and Arkados Blackmire is also in the legend of Shura. and since i havent appeared yet, it sucks. haha ok, actually its really good. i like it. here's some inside info: The disciple is called Shura also. he takes on the name after he kills his master. HE is the white haired Shura. notice the Shura in the story has black hair...

 

oooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

It all makes sense now. I was wondering how the older, wise ravenhaird man turned into a paladin hating sob I had forgotten that our Shura was a toh-head.

I am VERY curious where that deep-rooted hatred came from. Was Shura's father a paladin who did good all day and then beat him mercilessly at night? Or did he fall in love with a female paladin who broke his heart with a vow of celibacy?

 

No Mat he hates me because my Paladin beat up his stupid god like unrealistic fighter thingy.
That is why!

 

Sir Dargorn, no flames on Shura! OK?
Only over my dead body!

Is that clear, private Dargorn?

[This message has been edited by Extremist (edited September 10, 2001).]

 

Heh... I can't resist...

If we were to roleplay like Shura, over your dead body would be no obstacle at all.

Mat, Shura hates paladins because he's evil. C'mon, he had to kill his mentor to progress... isn't it obvious?

 

The harbour stank of human and commercial refuse. A crescendo of harsh voices filled the air as hundreds of people went about their business. The shipping trade brought in huge amounts of profit to the city and it's lords spared no effort in ensuring that there was enough manpower available.
A ragged ship laid out a landing plank and it's passengers wearily started crossing onto the soild ground. Most of them huddled in groups as they glanced around uneasily. Their yellow skin and slanted eyes were glaringly obvious amongst the tall, round-eyed people that surrounded them. Dressed in rags, they had crossed the seas to the western lands in search of a better life. Many would be dissapointed.
The last passenger laid his foot on the dirty harbour floor. He was a young man of around eighteen years. Though considered tall among his people, he was only of average height among the round-eyed people. His volumnious robes were in a much better condition than his fellow passengers but the most glaring difference between him and them was the presence of two swords hanging by his waist. Pushing his way through the cluster that the eastern immigrants had begun to form, he walked into the crowd, a dreamy look of hope on his young face...
Since leaving the body of his Sensei to be covered in the snow all those years ago , Shura had wandered aimlessly through his homeland, seeking his purpose in life. Many were the times he had offered his skills as a sword-for-hire admist the endless strife in the east. Countless times more were the people that had perished under his blades. The youthful face of Shura did not seem to belong to the indifferent and seasoned murderer that he was. Eventually, he killed his way to the nobility and a member of the Imperial family lost his head to Shura's swinging sword. The legendary samurai, Bu-Shin the Warrior Sage was despatched to hunt him down. Shura still thought of that encounter with dread. The Warrior Sage's armor was impervious to his blades and the great, glowing curved sword in his hand that was known as a Nodachi came very close to ending his life. Even as he fled, Bu-Shin's arrows, glowing with infused ki came soaring after him, boulders exploding under their tremendous impact when they missed.
Crossing the seas, Shura hoped to start afresh in this new land. Never mind the uncouth pushing and shoving of the crowd he waded in, never mind the obscenities hurled at him as he stumbled his way through, Shura was confident that he would find a niche in the world where he was accepted.
Reaching the city, a wooden makeshift booth caught his eye. A crowd was milling around it and clamouring loudly. To saite his curiousity, Shura edged closer. It seemed that a nobleman was recruiting mercenaries. Shura's eyes brightened at the prospect. He was no stranger to the practice of offering one's sword for coin. The fact that such a vocation had caused him to become an outcast in his homeland, however, checked his brimming enthusiasm.
"Eyrgh.." grunted the large form in front of Shura as he was jostled from behind by the crowd to bump solidly into him. Shura started to apologize but the offended mercenary-to-be would not be so easily placated.
"Your pardon, sir..." Shura never completed his sentence as the man smashed a brass covered fist into his side, driving the breath out his lungs and doubling him over.
"No one messes with Ulgrak, especially not a puny yellow-skin like you!" Ulgrak slobbered through thick lips wreathed in filthy hair. He pulled back his fist for another blow but halted as Shura raised his head, a dangerous glow in his black eyes.
The clerk tending the booth was flustered. The weather was hot and humid and he was sweating through his thick robes. "Get in line, all of you! If you wish to sign up, you will behave in an orderly manner! " the clerk doubted his words had any effect on the crowd of roughneck soldiers of fortune before him. A high pitched scream rent the air though, and the crowd turned as one to investigate it's source. Ulgrak's bulky form soared through the air, landing on the clerk's wooden table, breaking it with a splintering crash.
"My arms! My arms!" Ulgrak alternated between shrieking and sobbing as his arms dangled at impossible angles below the elbows. All eyes then turned towards Shura. His feet were firmly planted in the muddy soil and his face wore a look of grim satisfication.
"Well done!" the sound of a pair of hands clapping followed the clear voice that had said those words. The crowd parted before Shura to reveal a young, slender dark-haired man standing beside the booth. He was clad in an elegantly crafted suit of black plate-mail with a slim, straight sword belted at his hip. A black shield of polished steel was strapped to his back and a strange guantlet of outlandish design encased his left fist. His eyes were deep set and were a shade of startling blue. Shura blinked in puzzlement: a flash of red seemed to flicker past the armored man's eyes. Whispers of "Lord Blackmire!" went up fervently among the crowd and they gave Shura and the newcomer an even wider berth. Lord Blackmire extended his hand to Shura who took it politely, making the first of his many steps into damnnation.............

 

HAHA!! Now we're getting somewhere!!
Shura isn't evil, he's neutral. And now we will see what happens... i must admit i myself don't really know the whole story he thought up. good writing man, getting better. i like it.

 

Very nice shura... I am eager to hear more

 

Very good writing. I would suggest though that you break up some of your paragraphs to make them more readable; put an empty line between thoughts.

It would make it easier on us by breaking it up into pieces we can handle.

 

The dark side of the force is not stronger but quicker more tempting.... Excellent scenario introduction.