Passing of the Wind and Waves - Tanikawa Youko

[Thrym]

It was a perfect spring day in the far off lands of Kozakura. A gentle breeze fluttered through the cherry trees, whirling up countless pink petals as the two made their way homewards.
A bright smile graced Tanikawa Soetsu’s elderly features as he listened to his granddaughter’s stories. In his youth, he would not have allowed himself to display such weakness, but the years had tempered his stern disposition, and his days as a warrior were long behind him.

A bellowing laugh escapes him as she continues talking, and he lifts her little body of the ground, spinning the giggling child around him. He comes to a stop and regards her. His duties had kept him away from home so often. He never had the chance to spend as much time with his son as he had wanted to. But now he had the time, and he’d give his grandkids all that he could.

His smile grows even wider as he watches the happy girl held in his arms, the sunlight breaking through the cherry canopies. A perfect spring day. Only a single cloud marred the heavens, black and …

His smile vanishes as he focusses his gaze.

Smoke.



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The old Samurai falls to his knees. He presses the girl in his arms tightly against him, sure to lock her head where it was. This was not meant for a child’s eyes. He wished he did not have to see himself.

“Don’t look, Youko.”



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The ship sways gently as it sets sail, the figure of his granddaughter growing smaller and smaller. She had cried and begged him not to go too, but he must. The priests on Okaroshima will watch over her. He closes his eyes, remembering the images forever burnt into his mind. The stench of scorched flesh. The glowing embers of his home. The bodies of his family. The banner, waving from the pole piercing his son’s chest.

His grip tightens painfully around his sword. He knew who did this. He knew where to find him. Why had he never followed him? He should have known the Oni would not forget, not forgive. Now his family had paid the price.

Lowering his head, he turns from the fading image of his granddaughter and draws the Nodachi from its sheath.

“Keika-no-Namikaze.”

The old man’s gaze wanders along the edge, adorned with engravings of the wind and waves. How long had it been?

“It seems I must depend on you again after all these years. We’ll become as one, one last time.”

[Thrym]

Twenty years later…


Taking a deep breath, the Shrinemaiden steps into the shallow waters of the tide pool. Her eyes take in the familiar sight, dyed red in the light of the setting sun. The thin circle of rocky walls that contained the ocean’s waters even after the tides had retreated. The red Torii-gate facing towards the sea, marking the entrance to this sacred place.
Her gaze focusses on the one thing unusual as she slowly approaches it. A sword rack had been placed in the middle of the pool, a single blade resting upon it. In a way, it too was a familiar sight, if not one she had expected to ever lay eyes upon again. A group of explorers had recovered it from the cursed, burning island of Wabekazan, and one of their scholars had recognized the remnants of its original spells to have been worked by the Shrine.
She stops in front of it.

Keika-no-Namikaze.

Her grandfather’s sword. She recognized the engravings and shape, but aside from that, the Nodachi looked nothing like it used to. It’s former silver shine had turned almost black. The holy water that used to line the blade was gone, replaced by a thin trickle of blood. She reaches out toward it, stopping her hand only a hair’s width away from the edge. Closing her eyes, she can sense its unwholesome aura, an almost palpable feeling of rage and anguish emanating from the weapon. The explorers had said not to touch it, had brought it here wrapped in thick cloth, locked inside a box. Maybe a tad too much worry, but those strange to the way of magic could be a superstitious lot. She opens her eyes, watching a drop of blood drip from the sword into the waters below before turning her gaze to the sun, just about to sink below the horizon.

It was time.

Straightening her ceremonial garb, a simple white shirt with loose sleeves as well as set of wide red pants held up by a belt, the young woman takes another deep breath. She picks up two of the Toributsu, sacred items to be used during the ceremony, from next to the rack. A gourd filled with blessed waters, symbol of the Kami’s dominion over the oceans. A fan of feathers, to show his mastery over the storm winds.

Her gaze wanders about the tide pool once more. None of the others had accompanied her. Whatever the Lord of the Sea would reveal was meant for her alone, the High Priest had said.

Closing her eyes again, she begins a slow ritual dance, spilling blessed water from the gourd with, wide, sweeping motions, gently stepping through the shallow waters, circling the blade. Letting go of her self, she opens her mind to the kamis. Her mind adrift along the spirits, she dances until the sun plunges into the ocean. Darkness falls over the lands, but with every step of her sacred dance, the tide pool becomes a little brighter, a dim white glow from the waters illuminating the holy grounds. Soon other lights join. One after the other, ethereal images of fish, quails and rays, of squids, whales and turtles, and countless other creatues of the sea emerge from the waters, slowly circling the pool in tune with her steps, seeming to grow more solid with each turning.

In time the tide advances; the ocean’s waters touching the pool's. Her eyes are closed, but deep down, she can feel it. She comes to a halt; arms spread wide, the sword rack between her, the Torii-gate and the endless sea. The dim glow of the pool and the creatures of the sea join as one, flowing from the pool out through the Torii, like a bridge of light extending far into the ocean, framed by the spirits still softly swaying to the rhythm of her dance. Finally, the light stops its advance as it meets a shining glow of red and white emanating from deep below the water’s surface.

She drops to her knees, putting down the gourd and fan, bowing forward till her brow touches the waters. Slowly she rises again, lifting her gaze along the path of light. There, in the distance, it hovered above the waves, the serpentine, ethereal body of the grand kami, majestic and otherwordly, almost as if it had leapt straight from a painting. She can feel its piercing gaze upon her. The Lord of the Sea has answered her prayers.

No words are necessary. She shuffles forwards on her knees and reaches to lift the blade from its stand.

As one hand locks around the grip and the other pushes up the back of the blade, a wave of anguish and rage washes over her, only to be followed by a hungry pull, as if her very life was draining into the sword as she held it. Decades of guilt and regret assault her mind. Something inside her screams at her to drop the cursed thing, and her hand begins to open.

A voice echoes across the island, or maybe only inside her mind, ancient and powerful, deep as the ocean and rumbling as the stormclouds.

Stay strong, my child.

I am here.

Calm your breath.
Centre your mind.
The ocean shall reveal the secrets you seek.

The Kami’s voice resounds inside her. He was here. There was nothing to fear. She could endure. The pain and rage continue to wash over her, but as the grand spirit's magic fills her mind, it takes form, images forming inside her mind, visions of the past replacing her sight.

She… He… sees the ruins of their house, nothing but embers and corpses. Her brothers … His grandchildren… Her parents … His Son with his wife … butchered and burnt. A spear piercing father’s… his son’s chest, a banner hoisted on it waving in the wind. She does not know … He could never forget ... that banner. Kuroshita

She… He… takes one last look at her… his granddaughter… left behind at the Shrine.


She… he… crosses blade with an old Nemesis… Kuroshita… on the cursed island of flame. Swords clashing. Spells hurled at her… him. The vengeful Oni’s laughter echoes across the islands as it gains the upper hand. Its word mock everything about her… him. She… he… had gotten old. Weak. Soft. Foolish. Unable to defend that which she… he… cared about. It would end here. Finally, the Oni would take her… his life. It gathers heinous black magic, unleashing darkest magic against her… him. Ripping flesh and spirit of bone. She… he… cannot fail.
Must not.
Had to avenge the fallen.
Had to return to her… his granddaughter.
She… he … grasps Keika-no-Namikaze. Pushes forward through the spell. Flesh fails. Life fades. Will and Rage do not. The elderly swordmaster gathers all his strength. One blow. More was not left. She… he … had to decide it in this one strike.
Had to avenge the fallen.
Had to return for her.
She… he… channels his ki into the blade. More. Just a little more. The blade trembles, slowly pushing forward through the black magic. A few more inches. The blackness devours her… his... flesh and rips at the soul itself. Push more. Push harder. She… he… channels more of her… his... life into the sword. More. Just a little more. All of it if that's what it takes.

Her… His flesh breaks.
More.
Her… His soul is ripped from his body.
More.
More.
More.
Rage.
Pain.
Guilt.
Regret.
He… she… pushes everything of him into the blade.

In the end, her... his... very life.

It’s not enough.

The sword clatters to the ground as flesh and bone are reduced to dust. The Oni’s laughter echoes across the lands.

She… he… had failed.
Had not avenged the fallen.
Had not come back for her.
She… he … tries to scream, but there is no mouth. No lungs. No breath.
Only cold steel and remnants of black magic wrapped around his soul.

Her eyes flutter open. The Kami’s rumbling voice resounds in her mind once more.

Soetsu’s soul is locked inside that blade, my child. Exorcisms will not be enough.

He will not find peace until he has taken his vengeance, and reunited with you.

If you wish to set him free, take Keika-no-Namikaze and slay Kuroshita with it.”

She can feel the stares of the spirits focus her as the Lord of the Sea closes its eyes.

“I can sense the Oni has wandered far from these lands, to realms my power cannot reach. I can send you there, but you will be on your own.

The Kami of Faerun are not as we are. The lowly ones are silent. The grand ones wield powers even beyond mine, and are an envious lot at that.

You will be without our guidance.
You will be without our power.
You will be surrounded by strangers.
You will wander lands you do not understand.

You will carry a cursed blade that will take much from you.

Maybe everything.

All for the peace of one old man who left you behind when you could barely walk by yourself.

The assembled spirits raise their voice as one in unison with the Great Kami of the Sea, a thousand eyes digging into her.

Will you bear these burdens?

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Far away from Kozakura, the sun rises above the alien shores of the Dragonmere.

A guard, still sleepy and a little hungover, watches the horizon from the grim grey walls of Valkur's Roar.

The bustle of the city begins as a new day breaks in Cormyr.

The waves wash ashore a young woman, her hand clutching a cursed sword.