The Three Swords, Book 3: The Wind, Chapter 3! 1.13.11

This story originated as a collaborative project between my two friends and me. It's separated into three or four books, and I'm responsible for the third volume. Unfortunately, I'm the only one with written or drawn material. I'll include both the written work and drawings here.

I only have a prologue, the first chapter, and some random middle chapter written so far. Each of the chapters are titled by the first sentence of the page. I also have the entire third volume planned out with a detailed timeline.

The prologue is a bit of a writing experiment. I made it as short as possible. Let me know your thoughts. I'll wait for responses before posting anything else--it's because they can be extremely laborious to read.

Index:
Prologue: There Was Once a Swordmaster
Chapter 1: Their Footsteps Carried Them
Chapter 2: It is the Youth
Chapter 3: The Sword Before Him

Midchapter: It Was a Magnificent Sword

Link to Technical Discussion for The Wind *recommended for newcomers**

Warnings: Well, it's titled "3 Swords," so you can expect some sword wounds, and sparingly, some really, really terrible death strikes. It never gets gory, though, because that's not what I focus on. However, you'll find that the story can grow very dark and heavy--what with a lot of suffering and turmoil in the characters. Prologue is perfectly clean though. There are mature themes--not meaning themes of a sexual nature, but themes that require some age to understand well.

There was once a swordmaster journeying home from a faraway place.

His travels had brought him to a meadow of grasses and gently rolling hills stretching the entire horizon. Though it was the deepest of night, the stars and a full moon lit his path with a silver light. His steps were not quick. The cool air of the darkness and an embracing wind were far too enchanting for him to hurry.

Somewhere along his way the master saw a young child alone atop one of the hills, merely sitting and gazing up at the sky. In want of some company, the master approached the boy with no bother to get his attention. He simply set down his swords and seated himself nearby, gazing up at the sky also. The child appeared stoic, pressed deep in thought. They sat together like this for a long time, paying each other no mind.

Who could this child have been? Was he a boy lost from his family? Maybe he was a restless spirit who wandered the countryside? Or could his tiny form be a disguise for a devil out to capture the master’s soul?

Regardless, the master acted with no reservations or fear. Without taking his gaze away from the night sky, he spoke to the boy. “Young one, why are you here all alone?”

The boy’s gaze did not deviate either. “I got nowhere to be. I’ve been alone for a long time.”

They were harsh words to know, but the master accepted the answer understandingly. They didn’t speak again for a long while, letting the breeze wash over them. Eventually, the man stood up, putting his swords back into his sash.

“My wife will welcome you with open arms I believe. Come,” he commanded. “We’ll return to the village together.”

The young boy stood up wordlessly and let the master lead the way. Now both master and child journeyed home just as slowly as before. It occurred to him that he had not asked the child’s name. The boy did not remember having one.

“Then I shall give you a name, young one.” The two of them continued walking as the master deliberated with himself. A perpetual gust passed over meadow. The master was impressed by how the breeze could be both soft and forceful, both kind and violent. He thought aloud. “This wind is unlike anything else….”

“Then,” the boy said, “you can call me Kaze.”

12.13.07
5.16.09

Interesting prologue--can't wait for more. And, where does this take place? I got a fuedal-japanese vibe from it, but I could be wrong.

Well, that's nice. =) The vibes that people get from my writing tend to be correct. Which is a good thing because it means that I must be doing something right, haha. =p

3Swords takes place in the Sengoku Period, though I haven't decided an exact year or anything. I just want it to occur before the Unification. And the events of 3Swords aren't related to any historical events or locations. I'm basically just using the general atmosphere of the Sengoku Period as my setting. So no, not completely historically accurate.

You might also guess that the story takes place in feudal Japan because of all the links I have in the Writing Resources topic. I had to do a crapload of research, haha. For the most part, I'm avoiding the use of Japanese words and will use the English translation instead. Having a hybrid language story is annoying--especially for the readers. I'm not trying to impress anybody with these random facts, as I find it extremely stupid to substitute in a Japanese word for no reason when just using your own language can get things across much better. The only real times where I might use the Japanese term is when describing weapons, but even those have very good translations. I just use the two terms interchangably for a small bit of variety.

Anyway, thanks very much for taking the time to comment. I think I'll wait a bit before posting the first chapter. It'll be a 16 page whopper. =D

Interesting. Are you aiming at historical fiction, then? Use of actual places, daimyos, politics, etc.?

Regarding Japanese names, well. If you've read James Clavell's Shōgun or Gai-jin, you may find that keeping some times to the "original language" helps immersion into the story. Especially in Shōgun it is used as a literary trick when an Englishman who knows no Japanese is stranded in Japan (historical fiction point of reference: William Adams ), with Japanese dialogue all around him. The narrator does translate for the reader, but the idea is let the reader feel the panicky bewilderment the Englishman must have felt. So sometimes it works.

I suppose "historical" fiction is the closest thing you can call it. I had to put this thing into General fiction because there's no made-up technology to call it Scifi, and it doesn't deviate from reality at all, so it's not fantasy. I'm basically only using the social atmosphere of the Sengoku Period--this is the time period where swordsmanship and weapons "technology" was prevalent. I had to choose the specific time frame that I did because if I did any earlier, then the weapons in use wouldn't have existed at that point, and if any later, events like the Unification, Tokugawa's weapons ban, and the Meiji Restoration would have screwed the events of my story. So...very lightly politics related, but if I did enough research to include real-world places and people, I'm sure this project would be less fun and more work. I might consider looking up some names of towns, but that's not relevant until I start writing new chapters. =o

Oh, that IS a very interesting literary trick. I haven't read those works, but using a dual language device in that manner sounds very clever. Unfortunately, all the characters in 3Swords are native, so having them confused wouldn't make sense, and I would only be confusing the readers instead. I want this to feel as natural as possible. I don't even want it to feel foreign, really, and I want the readers to be able to understand the atmosphere and all the nuances easily. But if my writing has an extra flavor to it, then that's dandy. =p

I think I should have Ch1 up by sometime today. I have to revise it and then add in some tags to fix the format. I'll have cookies for whoever finishes reading it and submits a comment. =D

(See opening post for content warning.)

Chapter 1

Their footsteps carried them through valleys and over hills, and a gentle wind accompanied them throughout their journey. Master Marusawa was wary of the pace he kept, wanting to return to the village on time but not wanting to wear down the young child following behind him either. Kaze followed diligently, never raising his voice to ask to rest, and only set himself down whenever the master did so first. Their journey had been one of peaceful company and one of few words, with the master sharing tidbits of his life in the village now and then, and the young boy listening in a stern silence.

“We’re here, young one,” said the master as they made their way over the crest of one last hill. The two stopped at their place of vantage and gazed downward into a greatly expansive pasture and the beginnings of a small village in the distance ahead. This view was studied by Kaze’s careful eye and Master Marusawa’s heart swelled in yearning for home. “We’ll be happy,” the master thought as the wind beckoned them both forward again.

As they approached the entrance of the village, Kaze could see there were people awaiting the arrival of the man ahead of him. They were a young mother with her two children beside her, and Master Marusawa raised a gentle hand at them, a simple greeting that masked the great happiness in him. The little girl, perhaps 4 years-old, rushed to him and clung onto his robes.

“Father, you’re finally back! I missed you. What took so long!” The master laughed at her words, well aware of his slow and self-indulgent pace.

“And I’ve missed you, Madoka,” said the master, caressing her cheek and tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear. He took off his straw reed hat and placed it on his daughter’s head. It nearly engulfed her entirely, but she pulled it back to reveal a bright smile. Master Marusawa then looked up to see a young boy charge at him with a wooden blade.

He let out a willful cry to give power to his strike, but the Master simply side-stepped him carefully, and the child tripped over his own sandal to land on his face. He lifted his head up, and flashed a smile encrusted with dirt. “I’m glad you’re back, father!” The boy quickly realized his tone and corrected himself, “I mean, welcome back, Master.” Ichiro was already eager to train further with his revered father and master, who in his eyes was the strongest man on earth. The master’s son was 7 years-old, about the same age as Kaze, if a bit older.

“I hope you have been good, son. Have you been helping out your mother like I said?” The boy nodded eagerly, and his mother spoke for him.

“Yes, Ichiro has been very good.” She knelt down to lift him onto his feet, dusting off his cheeks with her sleeves. “He has even assisted the leaders in keeping after the dojo in your absence.”

The Master knelt down also to meet her eyes. “Setsuko, I am glad to see you are well,” said the master in greeting his wife. She was thin and willowy, wearing her hair up in a classical manner. Her robes were simple, but attractive and tasteful. There was a genuine spark of adoration between the two of them, and whenever Master Marusawa and his wife were together a feeling of warmth would illuminate the room.

She gestured for them to stand and bowed deeply to return his greeting. “Welcome home, honored husband.” Such a formal greeting masked the great emotion welling up inside her. Master Marusawa’s wife then gave her attention to the young boy standing silently behind her husband. “And who is this?”

“I met this one on the way back to the village,” the master explained, a little too nonchalant. “He seems to recall very little, not even a name, so we decided on the name Kaze.”

“Kaze, is it?” She kneeled down to inspect the young boy more closely. Setsuko was a woman of remarkable natural beauty, and being this close to her was almost too intense for Kaze who had spent his days alone up until just recently. He held his breath, the little hairs on his neck and arms stood on end, and he made sure to keep looking her in the eye so he would not seem rude. His features were examined thoroughly, and she took note especially of the young boy’s intense eyes which seemed to reveal an indescribable depth behind them, one that was unthinkable to be seen in only the eyes of a child. She knew even then that he would grow into a man that would bear the burden of an extraordinary destiny.

Setsuko smiled, having read her husband’s mind, and said, “We’ll take this one in, then.” She took Kaze into her arms and hugged him. “I want to welcome you, Kaze. I really do hope you’ll find happiness here.” The young boy was unable to speak, knowing not how to respond to such unconditional kindness.

Master Marusawa lifted Madoka onto his shoulders and turned to his wife again. “Shall we go, then?”

She nodded, “Yes, let us go.” And together, the five of them began their way through the village.

Master Marusawa lead them, carrying Madoka who still wore his reeded hat for him. Ichiro followed closely with his practice sword pressed firmly into his hands, and Setsuko came last, walking with Kaze. The village streets were well kept, quiet but busy. Every so often a villager would pass by and greet the master, asking about his trip or making similar small talk. Kaze remembered not seeing any rice fields upon his approach. The lands around the village were actually unsuited for mass rice cultivation, and so the villagers had to purchase most of their grain. Of course, such living would require quite a bit of wealth, and the villagers have only been able to maintain this kind of living because of the master. Master Marusawa’s swordsmanship was famous throughout the region. It was a style that emphasized an excellent foundation learning short sword, or kodachi, and students of his dojo, with an advance grasp of swordsmanship fundamentals, would be able to move on and apply their skills in learning any other sword technique. So famous were his teachings that noblemen throughout the land would send their sons to study at the Marusawa Dojo, and this economic influx based around the master’s school was how the village was able to prosper.

Ichiro, the would-be heir of the Marusawa Dojo became a diligent student, and Kaze found himself practicing the same swordsmanship. The two young apprentices showed much promise and advanced quickly through the courses. The school had upwards of a hundred students, with several instructors under the head master. Ichiro trained very hard, often working under the instructors after hours so he could perfect his techniques. He was very popular in his class, friendly with the other students and able to tutor them due to his firsthand instruction with the leaders. Kaze’s swordsmanship was always just as strong in comparison, but he was always able to learn very quickly on his own. It seemed that a simple observation of a technique and then a short period of self practice was all he needed to properly learn a move. His self awareness was his greatest asset. The boy’s quiet mannerisms did not earn him many friends, and his method of learning did not lend him the kind of experience he needed to pass his skill unto others the same way Ichiro did. In time, the students simply found that Kaze would just disappear after the initial instruction and not show up again until the next class. No one knew where he went.

Ichiro often found himself testing his skills in matches against Kaze, with him being his only real equivalent. Their contests ran very close, with either one being the victor, but in all those times, Ichiro never felt that he had pushed his opponent to his limits. And even though they lived under the same roof, Ichiro never had much understanding of what kind of person Kaze was. They never referred to each other as brothers.

Several years passed and Kaze was 10 years-old. He was somewhere outside the village practicing his technique. The practice sword, beginning in his sash, would be drawn in an upward slash, and then reversed in a powerful one-handed downward stroke. Kaze had mastered the move long ago; he was only practicing it because the repetition would work his arm.

“You’re hard to find,” a voice said. Kaze looked up to see Madoka who was now 7 years-old. It was clear she was going to take after her mother, with long hair and sparkling eyes. He was thinking that yes, he was supposed to be hard to find, because no one was supposed to find him. He only practiced his sword technique alone and in this place. They were quite a ways outside the village, atop a broad grassy hill where one of the few trees grew. The tree was aged and grand, about three feet in width at the base, and it often bore flowers and fruit. Kaze set his eyes forward again and continued to repeat the strokes like before, and Madoka only observed his technique in silence. A wind swept in from the pasture, rustling the branches above, and washed through the two of them.

“You want to explain why you’re here?” Kaze said, not looking up from his practice.

It took her a bit to consider what to say to him, but she decided to just be straightforward. “I want to practice kodachi!”

“Kodachi? Aren’t you going to learn naginata with your mother?” Kaze was right. Somehow or another, it was subconsciously agreed amongst everyone that the Master’s daughter would learn how to use this pole-arm weapon like many housewives of the time. Setsuko, however, happened to be a very adept user of the weapon, and having Madoka study under her mother would be to her benefit.

“Are you joking? The naginata is a terrible weapon. It’s just a blade on the end of a stick,” she spouted critically. “How cheap can you get?”

Kaze saw her obvious distaste, but why she wanted to see him about learning short sword, he didn’t know. He prompted Madoka to clarify, “And that doesn’t explain why you’re here to see me about it.”

“Well, you see, I asked each of the dojo leaders if I could be instructed in kodachi, but they just shrugged me off. I even asked my brother and he turned me down, too, saying I was just a girl. He’s probably only afraid that I’ll become better than him. Then I tried asking some of the senior students to train me, and they told me they would only do it if I agreed to marry them! Can you believe those jerks?”

He didn’t know he was in for such a long story. “Then what about your father?”

Madoka suddenly adopted a guilty expression, looking down at the grass. “I did think about asking him, but I was too afraid he would forbid me from learning the family style. If I ever tried to practice after that I would be disobeying him, and that’s not something I want to do.”

So then Kaze was her last option, and she must have been serious to find him in the middle of nowhere to ask to train with him. It left him wondering if he was even capable of teaching at all. He thought over the situation, not looking up at Madoka so that the sight of her didn’t persuade him more than what he already had to consider.

“Catch,” he said flatly, tossing his bokken to her. Madoka looked up in surprise and reached out for the wooden blade, but it bounced off the palm of her hand and fell to the grass. She quickly snatched it off the ground, embarrassed over her fumble, and gripped the sword to her chest with shaky hands. A small huff came from Kaze who knew it was already too late to take back his decision.

“Really?” she asked in a bout of disbelief. “No strings attached?”

“Just one condition:” he warned Madoka, “make sure no one follows you here. It’s noisy enough with just you around.” She pouted at Kaze for teasing her, even though he said such things with a straight face.

He rummaged around the hilltop and picked up a fallen tree branch he found suitable to replace his bokken. “Let’s get started then.” Madoka agreed excitedly and readied herself to begin her instruction.

An invigorating wind flowed through the pasture, churning waves in the green ocean of grass and rustling the leaves and branches of the old tree. There was a clash of steel as Madoka had her short sword parried by Kaze, and she backed up several steps to get out of his striking range.

“That wasn’t much better,” she said, evaluating her last attempt. “I’m going to come at you again now.”

“Your stance isn’t low enough,” Kaze advised. “Set your feet further apart.”

“Like this?” Madoka asked. He nodded sternly. “Here I come then!” She propelled herself and charged at Kaze, slashing at him once she came close. He parried her sword again, but this time he had to sidestep to avoid the brunt of her attack. She trotted to a stop after she had passed him.

“Good,” he approved. “You have it now, Madoka.”

“Of course,” she boasted confidently. “But do you have to keep calling me that? It makes me feel like a little girl.” He looked at her expressionlessly.

“That’s kind of what you are,” Kaze thought silently to himself. Four years had passed since she had first come to the hilltop, and they were now 11 and 14 years-old. In that time, Kaze advanced in his studies, now being taught directly by the master, and the master’s daughter concealed her secret daily training.

Madoka raised her sword heroically. “Instead,” she began, “call me Reiko, whose sword delivers justice.” Kaze looked her in the eye and knew she was serious. She may have romanticized the idea a bit, but he was glad at least that she intended to be a virtuous warrior. But he had to raise an eyebrow when Madoka suddenly jumped with a look of fright in her eyes and took cover behind the tree. Kaze spun around to see the master approaching from the foot of the hill.

Master Marusawa kindly raised his hand to Kaze, another one of those simple greetings for which he was known. “I haven’t seen you in a while, young one. Is this where you always go off to?” It seems that to the master, he would always remain that lone child looking up at the night sky. Though many years had passed since that time, the master still doted on the boy who never found much use for a voice, and that unusual but sacred bond of kindness still existed between them. Kaze returned the Master’s gaze, not wasting words to confirm or deny the master’s correct assumption. He waited to see why his instructor had come all this way to look for him.

The man seemed very pleased with the place Kaze had chosen to do his training, taking in the locality and breathing deeply the fresh air. “You don’t have to hide, Madoka,” he said suddenly, eliciting a small squeak of apprehension from behind the tree. It may have been a full minute before she could reveal herself, and she stepped gingerly toward the other two. “And what do you have there?” her father inquired. Madoka presented the short sword she was keeping behind her back, holding it forward on the palms of her hands. “Where did you get this kodachi?”

“Kaze got it from the armory for me,” she admitted.

Master Marusawa was somewhat bothered that his only daughter had been unceremoniously handling a real sword. “Shouldn’t you be training with a bokken instead?” It was more of a statement than a question, and he was yet to address the fact that she was studying short sword at all.

“I did want for her to keep using the practice swords for a while longer,” Kaze started.

And Madoka finished, “but I insisted on a real kodachi instead because I wanted to study with the balance of a steel blade.”

The master walked up to his daughter and took one of her hands into his own, studying it carefully. He held the nervous girl’s hand for a long time, running his thumb over the rough spots on her palms and fingers. “All of this practice has calloused my little girl’s hands,” he said in a low voice, directing the observation to himself more than anyone else. Madoka looked up to find a strange mix of emotions in her father’s eyes—something between happiness and worry, prideful satisfaction and loss. She felt deeply touched that her father showed so much concern from such a simple sight. “You can keep this,” he said finally, about the kodachi, the slightest of smiles in his eyes, “but I can hold onto it for you while we go back into town. No one will suspect us like that.”

She almost gasped in surprise at the master’s words, but then she hugged him with all her might, her eyes a bit misty. She nodded eagerly in agreement, shaking the tears from her eyelashes, unable to form her gratitude into words.

Master Marusawa palmed the short sword once Madoka was able to let him go, and he turned back to Kaze who had watched all of this unfold in silence. “You haven’t forgotten, have you? Let’s hurry back.” He consented with a solemn nod, and together the three of them made their way back into the village, the wind whispering its blessings.

Ichiro’s foot tapped in agitation, his arms crossed over his bokken, and his eyes locked on the entrance of the drill hall. “That bastard thinks he can just come and go as he pleases,” he muttered to himself. Several noblemen had brought their sons to the village that day to consider training in the Marusawa Dojo, and the two brightest students were supposed to hold an exhibition match in order to display the skills they had learned. Since Kaze was yet to show up, keeping these important guests waiting, several of the dojo leaders had gone out to search for him, including the master. “How dare he burden my father so?”

A year ago, the two boys entered manhood through the ceremony of genpuku, where one takes an adult name and comes into the samurai class by receiving his first true sword. The master’s heir was given a new name although his closest friends and family still called him by Ichiro. Kaze and the master, however, found that the name they had decided upon years ago was still suitable. And in keeping with the teachings of the Marusawa style, each of the two was presented with the finest of kodachi for their honored first blades. Ichiro was deeply troubled at how his father would treat Kaze with such exception, and not only that, the two of them were given swords of equal brilliance. Should not the one and only heir of the Marusawa style be revered above all else? Ichiro’s hand clenched tightly over his sword at the thought.

“You’re late,” Ichiro pressed, seeing Kaze enter with his father and sister. Master Marusawa was quick to apologize for their tardiness and greeted his guests, paying particular attention to a new student, Ryuunosuke, and his father who was the shogun of a region further north. He let out another agitated comment at Kaze, “How long are you going to keep us waiting?”

Kaze handed his short sword to Madoka who admired the familiar but marvelous blade while she held onto it. He then strolled over to the stands where the drill hall’s practice swords were kept, all of them cut down in length to mimic kodachi, of course. Kaze palmed the one on the far left, third up from the bottom, which was the one he always used during practice. None of the other students knew of the fact, but this bokken was actually the heaviest among them. Ichiro unfolded his arms once his opponent took his place across the way. Again, Master Marusawa gave a warm welcome to his guests, stating the principles of his dojo and the makings and history of the style, and introducing his great disciples. Ichiro ignored all of his father’s speeches, his eyes looking over Kaze and deciding where he would like to strike him most.

The audience now greatly enthused by the master’s words encouraged the boys vehemently to demonstrate their skills, with Madoka, the master, and the other leaders very eager to learn of their progress. Ichiro and Kaze bowed to each other sternly and took their blades in hand. Kaze had slipped so effortlessly into a stance that his opponent had hardly noticed it, and Ichiro then raised his bokken as well and charged in first without delay.

Ichiro struck downwards at Kaze who sidestepped easily, but was forced back again when the sword was swept sideways. Kaze, being charged again the next instant, feinted a quick swipe at Ichiro’s eyes that caused him to back off. Ichiro, now out of offensive range, tried a running slash and his opponent countered with the exact same move, causing their swords to skitter off one another uselessly as they traded positions. They quickly turned to face each other again with Ichiro quickly resuming his offense, trying to strike various target points on Kaze’s person, but all the hits were blocked with mathematical precision. Kaze now took the offensive, launching his bokken forward to try to force through his opponent’s block. When the master’s son tried to push away the blade, Kaze could sense that the parry was sloppy and instinctively let go of his own bokken. The wooden blade spun freely in the air until Kaze caught it again reverse-hand, and before Ichiro could realize what had happened, his adversary’s sword was at his throat. The first round went to Kaze.

The audience cheered at the spectacle, giving praise to both the participants. Master Marusawa almost lamented the display, for the guests may now expect their sons to learn techniques like Kaze’s that were not taught in the classes. Madoka was already dreaming about trying out that move for herself as soon as she could get out of the dojo. The two of them took their places again for their second bout.

Ichiro quickly forgot about his loss so that it would not cloud his mind. As soon as their swords were raised they clashed again. Two fast strikes from Ichiro, blocked by Kaze, flowed into a third where he turned around and used that momentum to swipe the blade at his opponent with both arms. Kaze managed to block the tremendously powerful blow, and he too spun around to give his sword greater force, but he lashed out with only one arm, giving the swing incredible speed. Ichiro dropped to one knee to duck and then struck upwards at Kaze’s face. He leaned backwards out of his opponent’s arc and retaliated with downward swipe which was evaded when Ichiro rolled to the side. As soon as Ichiro was on his feet, Kaze charged him with a two-handed stab aimed at his midsection. He managed to parry the blow and deflect it upwards, and in the instant Kaze’s attack was broken, Ichiro drove his blade forward and hit his opponent across his front. The match went to Ichiro, who watched in satisfaction as Kaze grimaced and braced his hurt rib with one hand.

Applause erupted once again from those who witnessed the fight. The master was somewhat relieved to see that his son was able to win the match with more conventional means. Once Kaze had recovered, they went into what was decidedly the final bout.

They held their swords forward and circled each other carefully, inching closer step by step. As soon as the tips of their weapons touched they opened up into a flurry of strikes and parries with the sound of clashing white birch permeating the air. Ichiro and Kaze matched each other blow for blow and block for block. Their pace accelerated to the point where their parries and counterattacks were made all in a single motion of their blades. Ichiro began throwing all of his strength into his strikes, and even though Kaze was able to defend against each one, he was left stunned and unable to counter. With Ichiro controlling the pace of battle, Kaze quickly began to fatigue. Eventually, Kaze was too slow to raise his sword to defend himself, and the butt of Ichiro’s hilt crashed into his wrist, numbing his left arm and slowing his stroke even further. Kaze laid his blade across his shoulder to defend when his opponent’s sword came down on him, but he was met with such force that he fell to one knee before the blow was completely stopped. Fully aware of the trouble he was in, Kaze took hold of his opponent’s hands and jammed a foot into his midsection, and when Kaze rolled backward, Ichiro was tossed into the air and landed on his back.

Once on his feet again, the master’s son found his opponent backed several paces away. His lips were parted, breathing heavily. Fatigued and with his left arm numb, Kaze knew he would have to take the bout in the next move, and only with one arm. He found his composure again, controlling his breath and relaxed his entire body. Kaze took his bokken into his left hand, holding it uselessly by the base of its blade as if he were carrying it, and stood with his arms at his sides. He appeared to be completely open and undefended. Ichiro was greatly surprised by this and thought that his opponent might have given himself up. But things weren’t going to be so easy. Determined to punish his opponent and obtain a true victory, Ichiro charged forward with his sword raised high above his head. When he came close, he suddenly stopped mid rush, his right side wracked with tremendous pain, and he dropped his sword to the ground. Somehow or another Kaze’s blade had lashed out and struck him first.

Those who saw it were awestruck, and those who blinked missed it entirely. In one move Kaze had snatched victory, and once out of their stupor the onlookers cheered with bewildered praise. The residents of the Marusawa dojo quickly rushed to their two students to impart aid because of their exhaustive and damaging bout, and the noblemen and theirs sons quickly crowded around to commend and ask questions, giving them little space to breathe. All of the noblemen’s sons quickly enlisted, inspired by the exhibition, and their fathers gave great praise to Master Marusawa whose teachings would serve their sons well. That night a feast was held to celebrate the new coming students and the future success of the Marusawa dojo. There was song and dance, abundant and delicious foods; sake flowed with good conversation and laughter, and many gifts were imparted to the master of the dojo.

Kaze stayed only until the formalities were over and when he finished eating his share. He answered the questions of those who approached him with four words or less, and when he ate he was careful to only pick out Setsuko’s cooking which he found more to his liking than the other dishes. He escaped from the main body of the celebration unnoticed, but was pulled aside by the master unexpectedly. They found somewhere quiet where they could converse properly.

“You fought well in your exhibition today,” the master started. “What did you think?”

“It went fairly,” Kaze answered. “I nearly lost.”

“It was indeed close. That last move you used…”

“Yes, I learned it from watching you once. It’s not nearly as effective when using a sword that has no sheath,” he commented. “I’m sorry if you did not mean for anyone to know of it.”

That technique they spoke of was one of the treasures of the Marusawa swordsmanship. Only the master knew of how to use it properly, and the dojo leaders merely knew of its existence, for they were unable to attain a level of skill that allowed them to practice it. Master Marusawa had disciplined his body for years, and most importantly, his mind and soul before he even attempted to fully use the move. However, the specific conditions of that move meant that even the master of the style had never used the attack in its true form before. But then, Kaze was able to replicate it without so much as hearing the teachings behind it, and this was a grave concern to the master. The potential for corruption was enormous.

“You are a gifted disciple, young one, and you will one day become a powerful warrior. Your sword may be swift, but your attempts will be hollow if you do not understand the heart and soul that augments your blade.” Kaze agreed firmly, having understood this. The master continued, “I wish to instruct you fully in the philosophy of the Marusawa sword and art—its greatest strike—and when you understand both your sword and your own heart, you shall be touched by no other weapon that does not have this same transcendence.”

Kaze took into himself the depth behind these words spoken to him. The student prostrated himself before his master and bowed deeply, accepting this great honor bestowed upon him. And so began the years when Kaze would discover through Master Marusawa the greatest wisdom of their sword style.

Months and then years passed. The village in the great grassy plain grew both in wealth and in population, experiencing a splendid period of prosperity. Many new families took residence, hoping to find better lives for themselves, and the school of Marusawa swordsmanship at the center of it all increased in strength and prestige. In fact, space in the Marusawa dojo was becoming limited, and the lords of various feudal regions would compete to have their sons enrolled or to have the master visit to train their troops. Master Marusawa was very pleased with all the happiness he saw about himself—he could not have possibly wanted more. Although the growth of his dojo occupied the majority of his time, he would always find occasion to wander away to Kaze’s training grounds to lecture on swordsmanship philosophy. Madoka, who was always present during such occurrences, would listen in and continue her lessons with both Kaze and her father.

No one in the village suspected that their wealth and good fortune would capture the attention of more than just well-meaning people. Long had they been protected by the merits of the Marusawa dojo, but eventually, the alluring bounty outgrew the dangers of attacking a community of powerful swordsmen. They came when Master Marusawa was away to be received in the domain of a regional lord.

It was early morning and the members of the Marusawa household were having the first meal of their day, after which they would disperse and tend to their separate realms of work. It was just a normal morning until everyone else at the table noticed that Kaze had set his chopsticks down for a long time. There was a hard look on his face and his eyes may have been watering. Setsuko immediately asked what the matter was.

“These pickled vegetables have more spice than normal,” Kaze said with some difficulty. At first everyone just looked at him strangely.

“Ah, that’s right,” Setsuko thought. “I was just about out of ground pepper anyway, so I just added what was left to that batch. Is it that bad?”

“Let me see!” Madoka volunteered, extracting one of the diced pieces of pickled radish neatly with her chopsticks and lifting it to her lips. She didn’t even have to taste it, for the burning aroma was enough to water her eyes. Declining to sample it, she simply placed it into Ichiro’s rice bowl instead, and he stared at it with a grim look of doom. “I’m pretty sure Kaze’s dying, mother.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Setsuko exclaimed with a bit of panic. “You boys think you have to act all grown up now that you’re samurai. It’s fine if you complain once in a while!” She smiled beautifully at Kaze. “Let me get you some water now.” He managed a weak “Thank you.”

Setsuko did her best to hide her giggles as she made her way to the well. That boy could be so strange. He put up with so much in silence. Samurai weren’t made of stone, however, and Setsuko often wondered how to teach this fact to Kaze. She did admire him very much, although she would always have to remind herself how quickly he and her own children were growing up. Kaze and her son Ichiro were 16 years-old—enough to be considered men—and Madoka was growing beautifully at the age of 13.

There was a smile of satisfaction on her lips as she arrived at the stone well, dipping the wooden pail into the crystal water. Setsuko heard several people running through the streets behind her and shouting. Not able to make out what was being said, she wandered into the street in wonder, with more panicked people running past her. She finally caught one familiar man by his sleeve and demanded an explanation.

“There are bandits attacking the village! They’re taking everything and burning down all the homes!” He wrest himself free from Setsuko’s grip. “I have to find my family…!” And with that, he vanished from sight, leaving the master’s wife there on her own. She, too, rushed back to her family, her heart racing.

Upon hearing of the situation, the two boys quickly rushed to get their short swords and went their separate ways: Ichiro to find the leaders at the dojo and Kaze to caution the other villagers. Arming herself as well, Setsuko placed herself in the doorway of their home, brandishing her naginata. She ordered her daughter to always stay behind her, but Madoka refused. Finally, Madoka revealed the kodachi she had been keeping in secret, and upon seeing it, Setsuko understood at once, nodding with a stern look in her eyes. Madoka hurried away to defend the rear entrance.

Ichiro raced as fast as he could to the center of the village where the dojo was located. His mind was reeling with questions, fear, and excitement, but he knew he could do nothing until he had gotten to where he needed to be. Once the dojo came into view, Ichiro could already see that Tanaka Sensei was already assembling a few of the fighters. He called out to the sensei who shouted back. Ichiro caught his breath while the sensei informed him of the situation.

“There are over forty of them, all coming from the south and making their way towards the middle. With that kind of careless approach, it should be simple to defend and then drive them back if we play our game right. We already have several people defending the residential sections, but that may cause the attackers to simply pass through and advance quickly to here.” Tanaka was right—he and the master’s son could already see a few of them coming. The sensei drew his sword which cut through the air like a razor. “I want you to defend the armory. If that gets captured, we’ll get taken over very quickly. Go!”

Ichiro rushed to the building where their weapons were stored—various lances, spears, and other pole-arms, bows and arrows, and large assortments of daggers and swords were kept there. He anchored himself in front of the only entrance which had a raised walkway with rails leading up to it, and balconies leading to the court on either side. There was only enough room to fight one-on-one once directly in front of the sliding doors. Whoever wanted passage would literally have to go through him to do it. Ichiro’s grip on his short sword was shaky, the fear and adrenaline swirling together to make his hands unsteady. He could already hear combat erupting outside, but still, no one came. Thoughts were racing through his young mind. This was not practice anymore. Blood will be shed. And he will have to slaughter anyone who tries to gain passage. He waited full of suspense for his enemy to come, and the anticipation wrenched his gut horribly. And then someone turned the corner.

He was a tall and burly man, his neck and shoulders packed with muscle, and dressed in just a cuirass and his loincloth like a barbarian. He had his katana in one hand slung across one shoulder, and just the way he moved showed how crude and arrogant he was. His eyes were beastly and he had a scar that cut through his hairline and one eyebrow. The mere sight of him nearly gave Ichiro a stroke, but he managed to break out of his paralyzing shock and unsheathed his sword at the bandit. The burly man only smirked.

“That’s a real nice sword you’ve got there, kid,” the man said, eyeing Ichiro’s prized kodachi. “I think I’ll take that, too. Why don’t you make it easy for yourself and just hand it over?”

“You’re not getting anything from here! Just turn back the way you came and no one will get hurt.”

He gave Ichiro a ridiculous look. “Something must be wrong with your head, boy. You think a scared little runt like you has a chance! Let me set you straight so you can die with your head out of the clouds!”

With that, he charged at the master’s son. The bandit swiped downward with one arm, and Ichiro sidestepped it, retaliating with a slash at the man’s chest, but he easily turned his blade upside down and blocked the hit. He pushed back Ichiro with his immense strength, nearly knocking him down. Ichiro knew he didn’t have a chance in the world to overpower his opponent. Maybe he would die here. Another swipe was blocked by Ichiro, but the man’s power was astonishing and Ichiro was unprepared for it. The kodachi bucked from his grip, and his opponent flung it aside out of Ichiro’s hand, and cut a deep gash into the side of his wrist. Ichiro backed up against the sliding doors, his hand wrenched over his other wrist that was bleeding profusely. He knew he was finished.

The burly man smirked haughtily as he closed in to kill Ichiro, but then a scabbard bounced off the side of his head and skittered to the floor. It was thrown by Kaze who quickly leapt over the guardrail and put himself between Ichiro and the man, his sword ready.

“I should have thrown my sword instead,” Kaze suddenly realized. “How is that arm?”

Ichiro grimaced at his bloodied hands. “Not good. I can’t seem to move some of my fingers….” He looked over Kaze who was dead-set as always, and he had small spats of blood on him from previous fights. The blood was not his. At this sight the bandit looked both frustrated and surprised.

“Another kid?” he exclaimed. “Don’t they have any men around here? Well, I’m just here for the loot, really. Killing off two pests in the process…I can’t complain.” His teeth showed in a twisted smile of excitement as he raised his sword.

Kaze pre-empted him and charged first with no hesitation, astounding the man with his speed. His opponent backed out of the way and countered with a sideways slash. Reverse-handing his kodachi, Kaze deflected the attack with a side slash and at the end of the motion, aimed the point of his sword directly for the bandit’s heart. With his left palm, he punched the sword forward with tremendous force. The blade hit its mark, being buried all the way to the cross guard, with blood gushing out of the terrible wound. Kaze withdrew his weapon, letting spurts of blood fall everywhere, and the bandit dropped to the ground in the throes of death. Ichiro watched the man pass into death as he lay in a pool of his own blood.

Kaze shook the blood from his sword and then cast an eye on Ichiro. “Let’s get that arm taken care of now.”

The battle went on for several more hours until all of the bandits were either killed or driven off. Though the villagers were victorious, they too had their share of losses, with many injured or killed and many homes destroyed. The dead were mourned and cremated, and projects were started to restore families who had lost their homes. When Master Marusawa returned from his travels he was devastated at the sight of his village.

Ichiro’s wound was severe, cutting deep into his wrist, and several tendons and nerves had been severed. He was treated by a fine doctor, but it was doubtful that he would ever recover the full function in his right hand. He could not practice his swordsmanship while his arm was still healing, so he spent his time watching the other students or just wandering uselessly. Whenever Setsuko or anyone else tried to assist him, Ichiro would become enraged and dejected, and he pushed himself very hard to recover. Members of the Marusawa dojo deeply regretted that he may not be able to succeed his father’s style in this state.

Eventually, the master gathered together his son Ichiro, Kaze, and the dojo leaders. They all knew what was going to transpire. Seated uncomfortably behind closed doors, those at the small meeting were stifled by the air that was stagnant with unspoken tension. Kaze and Ichiro kept their heads down, and the dojo leaders waited for the greatly troubled Master Marusawa to break the terrible silence and speak his purpose. His eyes were closed and his eyebrows were knitted as he meditated over the words he would have to articulate.

He let out a weak, uneasy sigh and looked up at the gathered members. Finding his voice at last Master Marusawa spoke, “All of you must be aware of Ichiro’s unfortunate injury. We must all hope for his complete recovery, for that must happen so the school may continue. If Fate does not look kindly upon us and Ichiro is unable to inherit the style, then I must regrettably say that I must name another heir in his place.” The air was laden with doubt and unhappiness, and sensing this, the master’s heart ached greatly. Master Marusawa drew in another difficult breath and uttered, “If it is to be that Ichiro cannot take my place, then it is Kaze who must be heir.”

The dojo leaders murmured ardently amongst themselves. Ichiro’s eyes were still downcast, boring holes into the spot on the floor where he fixed his sight, and his fists clenched so tightly that his wound reopened. And then there was something that no one had anticipated.

Kaze came forward and prostrated himself in front of his master, bowing so deeply that his forehead pressed into the matting. His voice was strong and resolute, “Master, I am honored by this, but it is my duty to say that I must refuse.” The leaders were all stunned, and Master Marusawa and his son could only listen in shock. Kaze continued, “Ichiro’s arm will get better, and he will succeed you. That is the only way it can be, for he is your son, and I am not. I assure you that this is the best way.”

Ichiro and the leaders were at a complete loss on how to react, and then they realized that the master must respond to Kaze’s words. Their hearts stopped as they looked back and forth between the master and Kaze who was still prostrate. Unbearable tension wrenched their guts. Finally Master Marusawa bade his student to sit up. He adopted one of his quiet smiles, even though he was completely heartbroken. “Your words are true, my student. You are not my son. Ichiro is, and perhaps I should have as much faith in him as you. He shall remain my successor…so you shall not inherit the school as heir.”

Their meeting ended on that decisive note, and the leaders dispersed with profound internal confusion in each of them. However righteous the intention, what kind of fool would give up the heirship to a master’s entire domain and fortune? The actions of that boy made no sense to them whatsoever, and they did not see a rational motive to it. Now everything was left to Ichiro.

He had no idea what to think. Should he be glad that he would be assured to take over his father’s style? What if his arm never healed? What kind of master would he be if he could not practice what he taught? These questions wracked his brain and churned his stomach into prolonged nausea. His future was so uncertain. And yet that wasn’t what disturbed him most. Ichiro could not shake that unbearable feeling he sensed from his father, and then there was how that pleasant smile of his almost hid the emotion behind his eyes. There was an unfathomable pain that Ichiro did not know could be borne within a man. How could this have happened to his father? Somewhere inside he recognized that the master may have favored Kaze over himself, and knowing so killed him. Kaze and his father had always been connected by some bond he never understood, but now Kaze had denied himself of any kinds of claims or connections to the master. He was not family. His detachment was resolute and unshakable—just the way he always was. Kaze was separate from them—different. And that disconnection was the root of all of this. It was a betrayal of kindness done with the truest sense of justice.

From then on the fate of the Marusawa dojo and the quiet village in the plains became very uncertain. The community’s confidence in the leadership of the dojo waned, for Ichiro never regained full mobility in his wrist, being unable to practice, and there was no one else who could properly and willfully succeed the master. And that is not where their misfortunes ended. Inspired by the first attack and the internal strife in the village’s defenders, bandits attacked time and again. The fighters drove off the invaders on every occasion, but with each struggle more homes were lost and more villagers and swordsmen were killed. The village could no longer be a center where swordsmanship thrived, and so the noblemen withdrew their sons from the danger, and no longer wished for the leaders to come train their troops for that would take away valuable manpower from the defense of the village. With that, the people lost the wealth and luxury they had grown accustomed to, and had to break their backs just to make ends meet. Master Marusawa’s beloved home was slowly being destroyed before his eyes. This torment went on for two years.

He lost more of himself day after day as he witnessed the terrible state of the people around him—it was killing him inside. With his heart crushed, the master fell victim to a wasting disease, and he passed on without struggle. He was strong and healthy before, but it seemed that he had lost the will to survive. Before his death he was bedridden for many months. Setsuko and Madoka were constantly at his side, and they wept as they urged him to eat or to go outside to be in the sunlight. He was constantly asking about Ichiro and Kaze. "How is my son? How is his arm? Is he happy?" "Where has Kaze gone? Is he in any trouble? Is he learning new things on his own now?" But neither of the two could bring themselves to see the master--one who had let down his father, and the other who had betrayed his family and estranged himself. They did not feel worthy of knowing the man's kindness.

Without those two, the master lost his strength, and he passed on, leaving behind his loved ones and his family's school. The Marusawa household lost its patriarch and the village lost its lifeblood. A state of despair came over the villagers having to struggle just to bring a proper meal to the table and worrying when another attack would come. Many would not stand for the desolation and left with their families to find refuge elsewhere.

Ichiro was thrust into his position as both the head of family and the head of the Marusawa dojo prematurely at the young age of 18. He did his best to lead his fighters to defend against the bandit onslaught, but the village continued to sustain losses. He hated himself for the fact that he could not pick up a sword and fight alongside his people. Many members could not find confidence in him and left, and those who remained only did so because of a sense of duty they owed to Ichiro’s father.

The Marusawa family endured the same hardships as any other. No longer able to sustain a bearable standard of living, their regretful solution was to marry Madoka to the son of a wealthy samurai family. They had to use all of the money and valuables they had left to produce a dowry for the marriage, and they sent Madoka away with it. Even though those remaining would live in downright poverty, at least the beloved daughter would live a good life. On that day, Madoka bade farewell to her mother, her brother, and Kaze, unable to express her objections, because doing so would be taking all of their sacrifices in vain. They gave up absolutely everything in order to give her a chance. Before she boarded her carriage to be taken away to her new family, Madoka looked over her shoulder at Kaze with an expression of absolute regret in her eyes, and with that she disappeared from the village. Kaze did not try to stop her, nor did he speak any kind words to her, nor made any objections of her being given away. He did not know he could, and the separation he felt stopped him from expressing his thoughts. She was better off.

Sadly widowed so prematurely, and left with so much unrequited love was Setsuko. Unable to support her either, Ichiro was forced to send his mother away to live with her sister who dwelled in another village, and so he and Kaze were the only ones of the Marusawa who remained. With nothing left, the two of them half-heartedly threw themselves into the fight to protect the villagers who could not evacuate.

Conditions for the men were pitiful. They were all filthy and malnourished. There was almost nothing to eat since most traders avoided the area, and their wives were not around to cook for them either. The constant and long-lasting battles were taking their toll on the fighters. Their fighting was miserable and spiritless, for there was no longer anything left to protect. Death and desolation was all around them, and it was on the verge of consuming them entirely.

The outlaws they fought off were no ordinary enemy. No matter how many were slain, others were there to replace them. More and more flocked in to avenge their fallen. The world has no shortage of scum. They were corrupt and ravenous, devoid of all morals. Though the village was on the verge of collapse, still they attacked. There were still weapons to steal from the school. And women to take. Some joined the frenzy merely for game, reveling in the challenge of slaying the disciples of the Marusawa school. Perhaps they would never be satiated until the village was completely extinguished.

The cause of the remaining fighters became bleak and hopeless, and so they became bitter and argued amongst themselves. Eventually, the men concluded that it was Kaze’s actions that were the root of their despair, for it was he who broke the revered Master Marusawa’s spirit. Without the master they felt hopeless, and they missed his leadership and invigorating presence in those harrowing times. Bitterness and resentment possessed those men, and so they sought to exile Kaze from the village he came to so many years ago. They cut off the top knot of his hair, marking him as a man without honor, and Ichiro confiscated his kodachi, his warrior’s soul, and so he was a hollow shell.

Ichiro spoke his final words to Kaze as he tossed a broken sword down at him as an insulting gift. “A sword worthy of you.” He was heckled and kicked and spat on as he was thrust out of their presence.

Kaze trudged away from that barren village without looking back. The sky cast over with black clouds, and the wind howled and whipped his hair wildly, beating down on his back. He once again walked the lands with no home.

12.13.07
5.18.09
8.1.09

Wow. now I'm really wondering where this is going to go!

Lol, reading this makes me want to write my part of the story. I'm way to lazy

Nice. i really like what you have so far. Kaze is an interesting chap, although i can't help but like Ichiro better. For the length of the first chapter, you managed to tell a lot of story. I eagerly anticipated the next one.

Now where's my cookie?

Here are your cookies. Toho Fuhai flavor. My favorite.

I'm glad that I was able to catch your attention. Did you have any specific thoughts on the chapter? =)

Thanks for your input. It's strange, my two supposed-to-be collaborators said the same thing about Ichiro and Kaze. I shouldn't be so surprised though. Ichiro is supposed to be a more normal person. He's dealing with a lot of hardships that I can relate with. However, Kaze's type of character is much more difficult to explore, but hopefully you guys can figure him out as the story goes on. If I can say, I suppose that he actually wouldn't be a likeable person if you were to meet him. He's the sort of person that's difficult to figure out or have open up, however talented he might be. The prologue is really a rather accurate exploration of his character--and you should especially take note of the fact that Master Marusawa even doubts the nature of his humanity at first.

If you want some insight on him and his name, it pretty much translates as Wind, and Master Marusawa's observation of the wind's dual nature is a reflection of Kaze. It can be calm and gentle, but has the potential to be extremely destructive. When I think of Kaze's character, I am reminded of the Three Calamities. (I don't remember if this story was either Taoist or Buddhist in origin.) The story states that the world will be destroyed by three elemental calamities, and you must be able to counter or survive all three to be considered immortal. The first calamity is lightning, which first destroys civilization. The second calamity is black fire. It's neither a natural fire, nor a celestial fire, but is a magical flame that cannot be put out. And to my surprise, the third and final calamity is wind. This wind is so constant and forceful that it is said that it will wear down living things down to the bone. It breaks down buildings and destroys crops--and on top of that it evaporates all the moisture in the world. So not only does the wind take life, but it robs the land of the ability to support life ever again. I said this isn't a fantasy story (and it WON'T be by any stretch of the imagination), but you could say the third book is about a person that embodies that final calamity.

While Kaze is the main character of the third volume, I can't say the story is necessarily about him. It will be more of an observation of how he affects the people around him, as you've already seen in the first chapter. Hopefully I will be able to explore his character properly and resolve things by the end of the book. By then, you still might not like him, but hopefully you will at least understand and respect him.

Haha, that's right you son of a bitch. If no one has guessed by now, LaughingMan here is actually responsible for one of the other volumes. Book 2, I think. It wouldn't hurt for you to start, because otherwise I'm going to have to write both your character and Belini's character from scratch! That's hardly fair, is it? =p

For those that have read this chapter, I am curious about certain things. I know that it was generally well received, but I am wondering about these specific points:
-was the length appropriate?
-what are your thoughts and impressions of each of the characters? (excluding Tanaka, who was only featured for two paragraphs, haha)
-who did you like best and why?
-did the dialogue suck?
-how are the character interactions? is there any level of chemistry seen between the characters?
-were any of you confused by the scene transition that happened after Madoka visits Kaze on the hill?
-how did the humor come off? did you laugh at all?
--did any of you pick up on Kaze's extremely subtle and ironic sense of humor?
-were the fights well-written? were you able to visualize everything? was anything confused or unclear? should I take some time to explain any of the terminology?
--what impression did Kaze make on you in this regard? would you say he is skilled?
-is there any confusion regarding the heirship conflict or any events that followed after?
-any other thoughts or questions at all?

I know this is a lot to ask, but this IS a writing forum, and this is the sort of input I typically need. =p Of course, none of you are obligated to answer everything, as it is A LOT to write. I don't have a 2nd chapter written, but I think I might start on it soon. It could take a few weeks to do. Didn't you see how long ch.1 was?! If any of you are impatient for that, it would be okay with me if I were to post that Midchapter I mentioned before. It is a oneshot episode that takes place several years later. It has a different main character for the duration of the chapter, though he will have to confront Kaze at the end of it. I mostly wrote it as an excercise for writing fight choreography (as the chapter itself is rather cliche), but I did include it in the official timeline.

Again, thanks very much for reading. =o

Whew, what a doozy this ones gonna be. well, lets get started.
1. yes, you managed to tell a compelling story that i could read in one go.
2. For being the wise sword master, Marusawa seen a little stupid to give up hope like that. Madoka's feisty, and i like that, though a naginata is still a good weapon, even if it's just a blade on a stick.
3. I'd have to Ichiro, as unlike Kaze, he has to work for his skill, instead of instinctively learning it.
4. Not that i could tell. Then again, i've never been the best with dialogue myself, so...
5. The chemistry between Marusawa and his wife was good, and i could tell he cared deeply for her.
6. yes, until i read further. Perhaps you could add an extra line of space between there?
7. Kinda
8. If you are referring to the "I should have thrown my sword instead" line, then yeas, i did. If that wasn't meant to be funny, then, well, I thought it was.
9. The fights were all good. I am familiar with Japanese terminology, so I'm not sure how others would fell, but even so, it was pretty clear what was happening.
10. Kaze is skilled, able to learn a technique by just watching it being preformed. But because of this, he would not be capable of effectively teaching others. His decision to decline heirship was actually wise, as he would do a crappy job of continuing the style. That's how I see it anyway.
11. nope, Although, if they now lived in poverty, why would bandits persist with their attacks?
12. No


Well, there you are. Oh, and that midchapter would be an interesting read. Also, next time try to pick a cookie flavor that doesn't explode my mind with the ridiculous
amount of awesomeness it possesses.

DAG here, eagerly awaiting the next chapter(s).
And, are these other parts of the story relevant to yours? If so, how relevant? And either way, could you please briefly explain the plots of the first two parts?

My apologies, gentlemen. My computer burned out and died on me at the beginning of summer. I've got a new (and extremely powerful) machine now, so I'm rather happy at the moment. I was also able to recover 100% of my old data, so all that I've lost is time (pretty much an entire summer I could have spent writing) and a good chunk of my sanity.

DAG, I'm very sorry about not being able to answer you sooner. I would have done so immediately if things weren't all messed up.

So 3Swords was meant to be a collaborative project between my two friends laughingman, belini, and me. We each thought up a character, and as I imagined it, each character's development is divided among the three books, and the fourth book is kind of an open ended dealy for all the characters together. All of these characters appear in Book 3, but the episodes develop on Kaze primarily.

That is to say, the two books that come before The Wind aren't actually in chronological order (or may not be completely plot relevant). Book 3 actually occurs first chronologically because Kaze is much older than the other two. My two partners have since given up their sections, but I occasionally bounce ideas off of them still.

Book 1 covers Sen, belini's character. He is the youngest amongst them. He is an assassin (or possibly an ex-assassin as I've heard it.) Sen carries a daisho like most samurai (a regular katana and a short sword.) The neat thing is that he's a left-handed fighter. Typically, Japanese styles only train right-handed techniques, even if you are naturally left-handed. They make you learn the other way around! I've asked belini to explain what sort of combat style Sen uses, but he never got around to elaborating on it. That's a bit of a let down because amongst the three authors, belini is an actual martial artist.

Book 2 covers Kaji, a dual-wielding swordsman who practices medical arts. This is laughingman's character, whose other stories he might post up here. Kaji is supposed to be a happy and care-free fellow, as laughingman decided against his usual depressing and melodramatic character types. We have tried to discuss Kaji's story on several occasions, but laughingman started over on many occasions, and even once ripped Kaji's story and put it into a StarWars fic. >=/ Ever since then, conversations with him about it have been rather incoherent. He's not the most dedicated writer out there.

Book 3 is my project, of course. It spans about 8 years starting from the end of Chapter 1. I won't go into details here as you'll actually get to read the story over time. And Book 4 was supposed to be the literal joint project, but seeing the status of my partners, it probably won't ever be written unless I write it myself.

Since my computer broke, I wasn't able to write all summer, but I have been drawing. I'll post up my work for The Wind soon. As soon as I have the Midchapter edited, I will post it also for you all to read. Again, thanks to all of you for your support. It really made me happy to see you enjoyed my work. I normally don't get any readers anywhere.

(Oh, and I'll make some plot fixes to Ch.1 and post them soon, too.)

God, and am I loving the fact that I can custom my own title, or what?? =p

Hey welcome back Sera, I was wondering were you went. Summer isn't over yet by the way... Oh, and happy B-day.

'Tis better then sliced bread.