It has been ten years since the death of Yoriichi Tsugikuni.
The Demon Slayer Corps stands strong. Through Yoriichi, they finally hold an upper hand against the night. His teachings have grown and spread, and even already, individuals take them to heart, adapting his breathing to suit their own strengths in their righteous fight. Demons have grown fearful, and for the first time in centuries, the devious workings of the Kizuki and their dark master seem absent in Japan.
But - all is not well.
The country is in turmoil. Torn from war between daimyos hungering for power, and beyond that, a far more insidious threat, traders and mercenaries from distant lands seeking power of their own amidst the chaos. Though the Corps holds fealty to none, it is still a tenuous time for mankind as a whole. And, beneath this, something lurks. The demons, weakened by the new offensive, grow desperate. In a time were alliances are built of poisoned glass, who knows what deals man and monster may strike together to gain the upper hand on both their foes?
Post by xXxStitchesxXx on Apr 14, 2023 22:49:30 GMT
Name: Abara Toshiko
Age: 18
Height: 5’2”
Weight: 102lbs
Rank: Tsuchinoe
Sense: Touch
Style: Thunder Breathing
Weapon: Nichirin blade (Teal)
“Hey, Toshika! Aren’t you supposed to be practicing poetry?”
“Father! You know I’d rather be out here with you. Can you show me how to do form three today?” A small girl in a block patterned kimono ran up to her father. Her short pigtails flapped in the breeze as she dug a wooden training sword out of a box. Her father laughed and rubbed a hand across her head.
“Alright, but just for a little while. Your mother will get mad again if she catches us practicing.” The man drew his own sword from the box, unwrapping the old blade. It was the sword that had been given to him by his father, when he had taken up the mantle of Thunder Hashira. He was but one of many in his family’s history who had been the Thunder Hashira, and as he looked at Toshika, he knew that line could continue unbroken. He would train her the same way his father had trained him, until she could wield the color changing blade on her own.
The girl giggled as she got into her stance, leaning forward with her hand on the sword. She looked just like a strike of lightning tearing through the sky as she closed her eyes and moved, darting forward and drawing the sword from its sheath. He smiled, watching her practice the move over and over until it was ingrained in her muscle memory. She’d been doing this for years, ever since she was big enough to wield the sword.
Still, as she practiced with the wooden sword, he saw a flash of something in her eyes. A kind of violence that left him breathless. A cruelty that hadn’t quite emerged. Toshiko had always been… rough with other kids. She would frequently push them down, punch them, scratch them, bite them, anything she could do to hurt them. It had been troubling at first, but it had come to a head when she’d almost killed her younger sister by pulling her under the water in the river.
She’d stopped after that, but still, he knew it lurked beneath the surface. Whatever lack of respect for the lives of others that had driven her to do such horrible things in the past was still very much present in his child. The best they could do, her mother and he, was to raise her the best they could. And he knew, oh he knew, that the only thing that would keep her under control would be the Demon Slayer Corps. At least that way, her violence had an acceptable target.
And to those Gods I will speak bluntly, We have an accord if you ever touch or harm him Please rest assured, you may not fear a man, But by the end to a woman, you'll kneel and plead Because I'm more than my mom taught me to be.
Weapon: Nichirin Clawed Gloves and Tipped Boots (Gold), Ring Pommel Nichirin Jian (Black)
Background:
There are two types of victim in this world.
The child was found nearby the ruined village, face covered in gore as his hunger had gotten the better of his senses. What few demons had been felled were gnawed upon, and when the Slayers tried to pull the feral cub from the bones he had snarled and hissed at them like a savage beast. Had normal people happened across this child there would surely have been carnage, but the Slayers were not as helpless against his demonic attributes as civilians would have been. Despite their trepidations, the orphaned child was captured and taken in.
Victims of weakness,
It had taken some time for the effects of the demonic transformation to wear off, and even as it did the wildness of the child did not diminish. What he had seen, the horrors of his village’s last night were anyone’s guess, but the Slayers had a better idea than most. For some time they approached the boy with a mix of caution and comfort, and over time he grew into a reasonable enough young man.
And victims of power.
It had never been questioned that the boy would be trained as a slayer. With all of his relatives and associates gone the Slayer Corps became his new family. As his training began many tried to stamp out the unsuitable combat methods the boy seemed to have come upon naturally, often citing how closely it resembled a demon’s fighting technique with disgust and contempt. When forced the boy could replicate the breathing, the forms and techniques taught to him without any sense of effort, but when left to his own devices he would revert to the same weaponless brawling that they tried so hard to move him past.
You either fall prey to the weaknesses of your betters, or fall to the hazard of your own shortcomings.
Eventually he passed the Final Selection, his Nichirin Sword forged from his gathered ore and presented to him with great pride. That pride fell in his first battle, the blade shattered for whatever reason during the chaos and the wild boy returned to his unconventional fighting technique. For the first time in years he had tasted the flesh of a demon, and after destroying his opponent had to be retrained again until the effects wore off. The pieces of his blade were recovered, and presented to him once sanity regained control. The boy, despite being promised a new, better blade, insisted his first sword be reformed.
You are either crushed under the foot of the powerful and corrupt, or you are taken down because your power is too great for a single soul.
Despite their misgivings, the boy’s Slayer family allowed his request, presenting both his new sword and remade original on the day he was reinstated as a Slayer in full. They had seen his power, his ability to match those lesser demons with a quick bite. He was a Slayer, albeit one unlike his predecessors, and soon enough he had proven himself to be a rather promising one.
Weapon: A longbow with bladed arrows (orange) Nichirin blade (orange)
Background: The mask is there, in the room that mustn’t be entered. It is my mask, but it is not me so I shall not wear it. My master taught me the way of the blade, taught me to use the same blade that now keeps the mask pinned to the pillar. It was my mother who taught me how to hold a bow and place an arrow exactly where I wished it to land.
There are demons in the night they would both tell me when I cried that it was too hard to go on, there were demons and it was only by my own hands that I could be safe. But when my hands became stained with blood, there was naught I could do to wash them clean, no matter how much water I ran over them. I took to the ogre, the terrible oni, first, I stole his breath and masked myself in his skin and the blood fell instead upon his visage. It was good at first, but he was too demanding, he desired it too much, the blood and pain and death. To claim victory by the edge of the blade was to prove one’s worth, to find bliss. No, no, such things cannot become a part of me, so the ogre must remain in his room, he will be the blood that feeds the blade.
The fox, the wise kitsune, shall instead guide my hand. She is quick and clever, steady in her sharp edge of her spells, and for her blood is heavy but never too much. She knows how to wash the stains away, and how to hide such sins in the darkness of her fur. And her sister, her smile is my smile and the purity of her fur shall let all see how I am clean even if the draw of my bow must be done to make the night safe for those I love.
Appearance:
//... into the dark she stepped, but never did she feel free of the gaze...//
Post by TheDarkLordKyzer on Apr 20, 2023 2:31:20 GMT
Name: Juan Sánchez-Villalobos Ramírez
Age:28
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 225 lbs
Rank: Tsuchinoto
Sense: Smell
Style: Storm Breathing (Water/Thunder Offshoot)
Weapons: Customized Nichirin Blade and the Big Guns
Background:
There are some who believe that there is no divine order to this world. They say that we are all here out of sheer coincidence combined with varying degrees of statistical likelihood.
The current state of the man known as Juan Sánchez-Villalobos Ramírez can be used as evidence to absolutely refute this claim.
Born out of an affair between a Spanish nobleman and one of his servants, Juan has never truly belonged anywhere in this world and yet belongs to all of the world...or so he says in his memoirs. Having joined the Spanish Navy as soon as he could at the ripe age of ten, he left Spain behind and only returned when his fortunes were high enough to live a life of luxury he could only have dreamt of years ago. Of course, it is through that sort of wild roaming life that has led to him being stuck on this damnable chain of islands. Even worse? The fool has grown somewhat attached to the fluctuating nation that he calls the Hellish Paradise.
How did such a man become a slayer of demons, you ask? Well, that is a tale of tales, and not one to be shared lightly...or without compensation.
What I will tell ye freely is that Juan Sánchez-Villalobos Ramírez, the Hero of Nagashino (another story of stories), is unique man in a unique land during a unique age.