Land of the Lost (open)

[The Wayfarer]

The galaxy was in turmoil. Evil lurked around every corner and at one point in time he had tried to stop it. He had found himself at an impasse. He had too make a choice. Stand up, fight for the light, or let it be snuffed out. So he fought and payed the price. He saw that fighting the darkness that was within the galaxy only led to more darkness, but it was to late. Now he was tainted by it. Banished from his clan to forever wander the land as a ronin for his actions. His lord had been the light, now he was unsure who it was. So, he stalked the lands doing what he hoped was right. Helping wherever he could, but knowing he would never be aloud to return to his home again...

The desert wind blew cautiously through the sandy world, kicking up dust as it caressed the earth. The Wayfarer's robe waved in the wind behind him and he had to lower his straw hat to keep the dirt from getting in his eyes. A simple bandana ensured he would not inhale to much of the stuff, but it helped only so much. He had traveled for miles with no village in sight, but finally he could see the waning light of a town ahead. His stomach grumbled awkwardly and he was once more reminded that he needed food. He only hoped he might be able to find work so that he could feed himself.

His left hand resting on the hilt of his blade he trudged on. When he finally arrived at the town he was directed to a bar after inquiring where he might find work. He entered the tavern through simple curtains and found the place rather homely. A fire in the center kept out the desert chill whilst a woman at the bar itself wiped down the counter. The floors were of simple wood paneling and the establishment was lit by a candle chandelier light. All but a few tables in the far right fore most corner of the room seemed pristine.

An old man struggled with clearing the broken tables into the back room beyond. The Wayfarer approached the woman and removed the bandanna, revealing round brown wishing well eyes, a roman nose with a slight bump in the middle and thin chapped lips. It was all framed by a square, but gaunt face with a five o' clock shadow. Upon closer inspection the woman was of a younger nature, probably sixteen the drifter guessed. She had her hair in a brown pig tail and her eyes were almond like with green irises. pursed lips told him she was deep in thought and he had to clear his throat to get her attention.

"Ahem,"

"Oh, sorry. We're closed right now, but if you come back tomorrow..." She began before eyeing The Wayfarer's sword.

"I am actually looking for work, in exchange for food and board," He stated plainly.

She nodded and looked to the old man struggling with the broken tables.

"You can start by helping my grandfather move those into the backroom,"

The Wayfarer nodded and removing his straw hat, he placed it on the counter before him. His hair was long and black, flowing to the small of his back. He moved to help the old man who eyed him curiously at first, but then offered him a simple smile. As The Wayfarer began moving the broken wood tables into the back the old man offered explanation.

"A group of vagrants... Kid's really, they come into town now and then and cause a ruckus... Lately it's been getting worse, but they aren't truly bad people. These are simply tough times,"

The Drifter eyed the pile of broken furniture and grunted in response...

 

[Vice]

As a complicated wayfarer entered in one side of the town, another arrived elsewhere. Cloaked in cloth as black as pitch allowing him to drift into town unnoticed in the encroaching grey which marked nightfall. He could, through crude senses, feel the signatures of life many of which confined to their houses as the rotating star dipped below the distant horizon.

The last time he had felt these many signatures he was embroiled in some conflict he had little care for, for all strife existed to temper a blade. Treading across the simple roads he kept his movements slight and near soundless, dull eyes peering from behind a hood searching for primitive shelter.

Hazel eyes slowed to observe another traveler, bearing a straw hat and a blade alien to his own enter a tavern, following each step before the door broke his sight. Padding up to the tavern Vice placed his back to the wall, his own hungering blade thumping in a metallic manner, as he listened in with folded.

As the woman began speaking of their sorrowful little town the cloaked figure pulled open the door and approached, his footsteps lightly sliding across the wood. "Board," the broken and dry voice questioned, though it came off as more of a demand. His arms moved mechanically as if to search the confines of his cloak for currency as mundane eyes observed once more the blade wielding wanderer.

[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

The Wayfarer was lost in thought as he began hoisting one of the broken tables to the back. He could feel something more was at play here. A dark force feeding on the locals like a vampire in the night. A foul demon that would manifest itself in strange ways and even more perverse forms. Perhaps these vagrants were but one of it's many talons. The darkside was strong here and the drifter thought of simply leaving the town to find another, but that was not his way. He was brought here for a reason. He had to find the perversion and purge it. Lest this peaceful village become lost to it.

He exited the backroom and spied another, a visage clad in black, but it was not the man he was focused on, but his blade. It was rank with evil magics. Even now he could hear it's whispers of greed, vanity, power, and so much more. It called to him, begged him to take it from the whelp who wielded it and the drifter had to tear his eyes away from it lest he become a byproduct of it's destruction. A bead of sweat began to roll down his brow despite the chill outside.

Was this the Demon?

No.

It was a foreigner to the taint that so heavily clung to this place. The sword was different, yet in some ways the same. Powers of ancient evil conflicting with each other, yet so similar it was almost impossible to see the fight being waged in the force. The ronin knew this man was not the cause of the town's strife and so decided to ignore him... For now. He looked back to the old man and regarded him with a simple smile.

"Tell me, have their been any other unusual happenings lately?" He inquired and the old man scratched his head, puzzled by such an odd question.

"Well lately the moisture vaparator crops have seemed to wither despite the machines being perfectly fine... And..." The old man paused to look around as if to make sure it was safe to continue.

He motioned for the Wayfarer to follow then headed up stairs. The drifter followed with haste and when they reached the top the old man directed him to an open door. They entered and the old man began to speak in hushed tones

"Something has been taking our younglings... I fear for my grandaughter's life... The other villagers insist it is nothing but the wild beast and the mayor has set a curfew in place... But, I have seen it! The beast! It takes them and when they return they are not the same!" The old man finished in a paniced voice and The Wayfarer had to grab hold of him to calm him.

"You have to believe me!" The old man said again, tears welling up in his eyes.

The ronin shook his head and with a stern gaze regarded the old man "I believe you and will help in any way I can,"

The ronin released the man and the old man wiped at his eye with one of his free hands. "Thank you!" The old man said

"If anything were to happen to my granddaughter... She's all I have left," He finished with his head bent low and despite the old man wiping his eyes The Wayfarer could see tears falling from his face.

The Wayfarer needed to find the source of darkness.

[member="Vice"]

 

[Vice]

Formerly lifeless eyes ignited with interest as the ronin followed the elder upstairs, giving him the opportunity to pick apart the dark haired wanderer's appearance with scrutiny. Vice picked up an aura, one unfamiliar yet similar. For more than a few years the man was surrounded by the ever present hunger of the dark side, a side of the force. Yet instead of the emotions of anger, passion, and fear there was a sense tranquility, if not ambivalence.

When he departed the cloaked figure turned back to the woman, sliding a few credits across the counter caring not for any response as they removed their own bronzed blade from their back, wrapping gloved fingers around the blade just below the hand guard. Even now, with such a casual grip, the hungering blade began to taste of Vice's energy, stealing slivers of the force as he in a half-relaxed half-measured manner approached the stairs leading to the floor above.

Fatigue gnawed at the edges of his sight, a light ring of darkness which threatened to swallow him if he allowed himself to fall into it. Memories of the red rock which came to be his informal home flashed in the back of his mind, a wasteland of sand and stone, beat upon by a bitter sun. But this night he would call simple fabrics and cushions his bed, not uneven rock with a sheet of dust.

Even if he could perceive the hushed whispers exchanged by the two, he would care not, pushing open the first door he came upon. Letting his pack of goods clatter to the ground with little grace or care Vice nearly collapsed upon the bed, resting the blade in his lap.

This was his lot in life, travelling from one system to the next, in search of... Something. He did not quite know himself, and was filled with discontent. Relics eluded the grasp of many, power required resources, and knowledge was often held within greedy fists. Whatever path Vice traveled it was unknown to him, but he would see it through or die a forgotten death.

[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

The Wayfarer left the room leaving the old man to his grief and paced down the stairs. He eyed the girl who was still wiping down the tables and took a quick look around the room for the Dark Stranger he had sensed before. The strange man was nowhere in sight and The Wayfarer sighed. He must've retired for the night. He was prepared to head back up the stairs to check the rooms for the dark robed stranger, but as he was turning he felt a tug on his robed arm. Surprised his hands immediately shot to the hilt of his sword. With sword half unsheathed he turned to face the threat, but found only the girl to be standing there. His sword sank back into it's sheathe and he let out a sigh of relief. She looked to him with a frightened, but determined look.

"I... I know what my grandfather told you..." The Wayfarer eyed her with a raised eyebrow.

"I know he told you about the monster, but I know..." She paused her face turning from fright to one of determination "It's, it's my friend Mujin and he's no monster..." She paused as she could no longer hold his gaze "He's not a monster. It's the cave, something inside it has possessed him..." She looked back up at him this time a burning passion present in her green eyes "Do not hurt him," She demanded. She pleaded.

The Ronin sighed in frustration. Their was more at play here then he had thought. He needed to meditate on this. For surely the light would show him the way. He turned from the girl and spoke in a stern tone "I will do what I must,"

Without waiting for her response he stalked back up the stairs and went to his room. He sat on the mat that was laid out for guest and sat cross legged. He closed his eyes, he felt his body, felt his surroundings, and attempted to feel the light. But, as always it did not answer. Still he knew it was there, but he had been separated from such a beautiful thing. Still he would not stop trying. He would never give up on the light... And one day maybe... It might answer back...

He sat their in his meditative state for hours. It wasn't until the dawning sun began to emerge that his eyes crept open. His meditations had yielded no answers, but the peace he felt within let him know that whatever action he choose today it would be for the good of the land. The sun's rays glinted through shuttered windows and cascaded upon himself with it's warmth. A thin film of dust floated in the air only visible in the lights rays and he raised a hand as if to grasp one of these stray strings to no avail. He released his empty hands and stood. Slowly, then more rapidly, he began running through the motions of the martial arts familiar to his home world. Today was to be a busy day.


[member="Vice"]

 

[Vice]

Back against the wall, blade resting across him, the man awoke lazy eyes flicking across the room as he gripped the handle of his blade. The hostile environment of Korriban forced the survivalist to take extra precautions when he slept. An eye open, some might say, but more accurately a light sleeper. The brushing of the wind against a window, the ring of chime, the creaking of a board, all kept him up at night. Yet he still managed to slip into restful sleep.

Now awake he set about his morning rituals, meditating upon the gluttonous blade, using it to hone and control his more volatile urges, while using a scavenged piece of flint to perform the near useless task of sharpening the alchemized metal. Subtle scraping, glints of light in the forms of sparks, and rhythmic motions kept his mind occupied. Content, he stowed the flint and moved to a stand, collecting his goods as he pushed open the door.

Vice had expected an encounter of the unfriendly kind with the other blade wielder in the building. The two were of different creeds, or so he thought from a cursory check of the wayfarer's signature. Yet he was still here, awake, and entranced with his own rituals.

Licking broken lips he stepped out and down the stairs, making no attempt at silence as the boards moaned their protest. He searched from the girl or the old man knocking on the counter when he spotted neither. "Water," Vice called in a curt tone, running a hand across the light stubble which had grown throughout the night.

[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

The Wayfarer finished his morning routine and with sweat beading his body exited his room. He took a cautious glance down each end of the hall and satisfied he could not sense the stranger he began to make his way down the stairs. His mind was racing with a hundred different thoughts. What exactly had possessed this boy? Was he even a boy any more or another product of the darkside? A demon that could not be saved? Perhaps the Dark Stranger would know of a way to help the young man without killing him outright, but it was doubtful. The sword that man wielded sought blood and The Ronin imagined even if Vice did know a way to separate an evil kami from the boy he would not share it.

Truth be told, an evil this great The Ronin was unsure he could defeat. So he would need the Dark Robed Man regardless. Together they might stand a chance, but alone he would surely die. The thought appealed to the Ronin, sweet eternal release and even better to die in the service of the light. But, he knew he could not die until he had reestablished himself to it's connection. Until it welcomed him back into the comfort of it's bosoms he would never truly be able to die the death he so desperately sought...

He sighed and rounded the corner of the stairs. He spied the girl at the counter alongside the Darksider and watched as the pale man lifted a glass of water to his lips. He imagined the girl's grandfather was still asleep. Yesterday had been... Stressful. The wayfarer's stomach grumbled rather loudly and he was once more reminded how hungry he was. With a defeated look he approached the bar. As he looked up to regard the youngling he found a bowl of hot steaming noodles already in front of him. The girl regarded him with a half smile and a wink. The Ronin laughed and before he could even finish his boisterous cackle he brought the bowel to his lips and began slurping loudly.

Between long periods of slurps he spoke to the Man in Black. "I... Need.... Your... Help,"

After finishing his first bowl he regarded the girl again and offered her a wide grin

"Very good, would you please make another?" He asked and the girl giggled to herself as she headed to the back to prepare the next serving.

Finally alone he could speak to the stranger. "I spied a cave of dark aura before entering this place, I believe this is where we will find the source of this towns pain..." The Drifter paused as he knew this man would require more then the gratitude of helping others "I... Have a holocron that may interest you... It's yours should you help me," He stated plainly then began to rummage in his pack. He withdrew a triangular shaped device and showed the Stranger, after a moment he put it back into his pack and regarded the man once more "So, what have you?"

[member="Vice"]

 

[Vice]

Each indulgence of water brought with him restored strength, his pained muscles dwindled to small aches and a foggy mind began to sharpen. As the stranger from the night before went about his slight merriment and satisfying himself on the sustenance provided his words brought a rise from the cloaked man. "I care not for the hurt this town possesses, but-" he cut himself short when the bounty of such quest was revealed.

A pyramid of knowledge, something all who sought power and knowledge searched for with eagerness. How a bladed vagabond came to possess one is of mystery to Vice, but if such a reward was being offered for a task he would gladly take it. The dark energy which surrounded the town like a weak miasma had drawn him here, the force had drawn him here, though he pondered if he believed the truth in such a statement.

"I shall assist you in defeating whatever dark spirit plagues these mundane people." Vice's words were direct, if somewhat abrasive. He spoke little, the night before or even now, often a man of action. Years of solitude having tempered his tongue as well as his mannerism.

Setting the glass down he nodded, folding his arms. Upon accepting the offer his blade's invisible aura began to grow, as if sensing that its gluttony would be sated soon enough with fresh energy.


[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

The stranger agreed to lift the curse that plagued the town so, as Oda knew he would. For who could resist the treasure that was knowledge. Especially when such knowledge led to what some considered power. But, truth was the holocron offered only the most mundane of teachings. Meditative techniques that tempered the spirit. Even so, the ronin supposed the stranger would like to have it no matter what was in it. As Oda began to stand to leave the girl entered the room with another bowl of the ramen. She saw the seriousness in his face and he could sense a twang of fear in her. Not for him, but that of her friend Mujin. The Wayfarer placed both hands on the counter and once more offered her a wide grin.

"I will bring your friend back safely, this I promise," He said gingerly, but the look on her face told him she was no fool.

"I'm never going to see him again am I.." She said dejectedly, tears welling up in her eyes.

That's when it became obvious to Oda, the look she had in her eye when she spoke of this Mujin. Her willingness to defend him so. The burning passion he felt emanating from her... She was sweet on the boy. She cared for him and Oda could even sense the budding fruit of love. He thought he caught a glimpse of what could've been. A reality in which the boy had not become a demon. A homely image of her and Mujin enjoying each other's company at the very inn they were in now. The Wayfarer paused, unsure how to continue. Finally he opted for the truth and spoke bluntly.

"I will do what I can for him, but at this point we may be lucky if we only save his soul" He said seriously.

He turned from the girl with head lowered and heard the distant shattering of a bowl as he began to walk through the Inn's curtain door. Oda did not look back as he continued through the sandy streets. He raised his straw hat from his back and placed it on his head. It was meant to guard his face from the suns harsh rays, but doubly so to hide the remorse plain on his face. If only the light would show him the path again! Things would be so much clearer, but his connection had been severed, so he would do what he could as best he could.

As he marched out of town he looked at the darkly robed stranger from the corner of his eye and wondered what he thought of such a situation. If he might have any helpful input at all. If even the faintest shred of humanity were left in a being of his nature. If he cared at all. Usually men of his ilk did not, but occasionally they proved to be as wise as they were evil. So, begrudgingly The Wayfarer opened his mouth to speak.

"What make you of this situation? Have you any idea what we are dealing with?" He asked without fully regarding the hooded man.

The sun was in full bloom as they reached the mouth of the cave and The Wayfarer could sense the dark aura was strongest here. It seeped out of the cave like a sickly ichor that sought to infect all in it's path. The ronin's hand found sword hilt and gripped it tightly. It was time to find out what had become of the boy and all the other younglings infected by his sickness. The wayfarer approached the mouth of the cave and the stench of decay greeted him. He had been through worse, but still it made his stomach churn.

"Whatever we are dealing with, it is truly born of the dark..."

[member="Vice"]

 

[Vice]

Once more, lifeless eyes danced between the two as he considered the looks and sudden emotions streaming from the girl's very being. An alien emotion, a foreign feeling, one he had not tasted of in many years. Isolation had worn on his memories and his emotional capacity, leaving only motivation, anger, and capricious fear. His moods changed like the ocean's waves, one moment still and the next tempestuous. He did not contain the mental ability to ponder the thoughts or feelings of love, and while he innately considered such sentiments weak, he did feel a pang of envy and being incapable to experiencing such emotions and all that came with it. Sorrow and mirth, tied together in a bond with another.

Vice followed Oda, departing from the tavern and tugging upon his hood to further shield him from the illuminating sun, as if it might sear his skin and blind him. He pursed his lips before almost sneering at the wanderer's question. "She is weak, and whatever became of the boy is of his own doing. He did not have the strength or fortitude to defeat or withstand whatever spirit has possessed him. Where I once tread upon such things were common, the howling of ghosts and the shrieking of entities of the past. The dark seeks to control the weak." He paused to scrape his lips against his teeth, as if to soothe them as he pondered his next words.

"If anything can be done to him, without killing him, it will need to be done through..." Vice stuffed a hand into his pocket, drawing out a single white rock, similar to a quartz crystal and just as flawed. "A ritual, of sorts, if you are capable of keeping it... Occupied." It was apparent that he had something less than savory in mind.

As they approached the cave Vice drew his blade and hefted it upon his shoulder, the weapon already beginning to pull at his innate energy. "If that is acceptable to you of course. I will need protection of sorts."

[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

Oda listened to the Darksider's words carefully. The man came from a world that sounded like a hellish afterlife. Whilst his travels had not taken him very far he had heard of such places. Hellscapes in which the dead were more abundant then the living. It was truly a maddening thought. How one could become a shade forced to forever wander the earth and yet, was The Wayfarer not the same?

He supposed the Dark robed man was right to some degree. The boy had been weak, weak in that he sought power that he could not control. Power that consumed him and made him the monster he was now. Even so, there was hope. The man offered a solution. A ritual surely as foul as himself, but if it meant saving the boy then Oda would be willing to try anything. He nodded to the man as he withdrew his tainted sword and together they entered. The cave was dank and dark. The deeper they went the more the stench of decay grew. Oda rummaged through his pack and withdrew a simple torch. He lit it off the ceiling of the cave and saw the reason for the stench.

Husks of younglings lay strewn across the floors of the cave. It appeared as if they had decayed at an accelerated rate, leaving nothing but mummified remains. Oda struggled with keeping his lunch down at such a sight. Horrified by the scene, he steeled his soul with a deep breathing exercise. He channeled his strength and readied himself for worse. They entered a new cavern and Oda saw the source of strife. Mujin stood slumped over with tendrils of visible power draining life from younglings not yet dead, but still as worse off as himself. At the appearance of the new comers a tendril fired from Mujin's broken form and darted towards the duo. It was clear. There would be no saving Mujin or the other younglings infected by him.

Oda dove out of the tendrils path and landed on his side. He quickly rose to his feet and withdrew his katana, preparing to charge he lifted his blade, but Mujin was on him in a flash. His form was sunken and misshapen, bones contorted at odd angles that should not have been humanly possible. The thing crawled on all fours faster then The Wayfarer would have thought possible and he once more had to react quickly in order to avoid a swipe from the creatures long talons. He rolled to the side and brought his sword to bear, but stopped short as he heard a high pitched yell.

"No! Please don't!"

Oda turned his head towards the yell and saw the Tavern girl. His heart dropped. He could scarcely make her out in the dark, but he could sense a great conflict of emotions broiling within her and stranger still the same war was being waged within the demon Mujin... Even so a tendril fired from the Demon and enveloped the poor girl. She writhed on the ground but still found the strength to speak.

"Mujin... Please..."

The creature grasped hold of it's head and shook violently letting out a cry of pure torture. Oda knew what he must do. He raised his sword and cut Mujin through the neck, ending the boys misery. Still the other younglings infected by the evil magics began to stir and Oda once more readied his blade "Do your ritual... Clear this foul place of evil... I will hold these beast here..."


[member="Vice"]

 

[Vice]

Despite his corrupted aura Vice took no joy in the observance of the rotting. For many years he had been surrounded by skulls and skeletons, but at that point their death was something of history and their spirits did not dwell in the present. Yet here rot, stench, and fruitless toil captured the senses.

As the girl foolishly came to suffer a joyless death, Vice made no motion to stop her. Everyone here made choices which brought them to this very moment. Mujin, the girl, and the wanderer. Upon the calling of Oda he held rolled the quartz like rock in his hand as he studied the creatures. They would not suit his need, mere figments of force corruption. Stuffing the rock away he took his blade in both hands and with slight steps approached the closest one to strike down with his foul blade.

"The corruption will depart when the last is slain and the bodies are put to rest. Put yourself to use," he spoke in his dull tone, rotating on his foot to drive the tip of the blade into the gut of the first, letting the blade taste of the energies.

[member="The Wayfarer"]

 

[The Wayfarer]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nM_XC51KBWw&index=1&list=PL8ql8fcMxUN5pFVy3jnaD6gmJHYghyyeq[/media]​

As the last of the creatures fell Oda sat crouched, panting and soaked in the blood of the fallen. He rose and wandered to the Tavern girl's body. He picked up her corpse and wandered through the caverns towards the exit. The sun had well sense set during their battle and once he exited the cave he was greeted by the light of a thousand stars. The wind blew restlessly and The Wayfarer thought he spied the phantom shape of a couple in the dust. He looked to the stars. Amidst them two gleamed most brightly and a tear rolled down Oda's cheek. But, despite his sadness he felt a smile creep across his face.

[SIZE=11pt]Forever they run[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Bound together in the light[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]Having earned peace[/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Finn[/SIZE]