Deleted
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Post by Deleted on Dec 13, 2019 13:53:18 GMT -8
Everything hurt. Yet not even the weary bones and bruised muscles he sustained due to unforeseen conflicts that awaited him during his brief stint in Pilaf Land could compare to the gaping hole he felt, square in the middle of his chest. Loneliness. It ate away at him like a cancer, and in times such as these—alone in his hotel room surrounded by a myriad of self-made paper cranes—never was the reminder as prevalent as this. Once a small isolated child in a vast yet lonely estate, he thought upon reaching his eighteenth birthday and the freedom of legal adulthood it would afford him that things would be different. That the world would change in its attitude toward him. But the world had grown increasingly hostile, so as to not be swallowed whole by its malice, he had changed too. Some might say for the worse. Too often life had taught him to err on the side of recklessness, and those who viewed morality in staunchly black and white were fools to be pitied above all others. The world was not black and white: it existed in a plethora of varying shades of gray, and Orizuru had long since been lost within the depths of the murk. He winced as he sat up, eyes squeezed shut against the pain as he placed a gentle hand against his bandaged abdomen. His shoulders and arms were bandaged as well, and a glance in the mirror above the small desk against the far wall revealed he looked more akin to a mummy than an injured fighter. He'd laugh if he knew how. A white blur streaked across the clear blue skies as he flew south toward the distant horizon. Flight made traveling a hell of a lot easier, though it did little to cover many of his other travel expenses. Food, water, sufficient shelter—every basic need he had. Fighting was his typical way of earning zeni to cover said expenses, but unfortunately, this area looked familiar—he'd already been lifetime banned from many of the local tournaments and martial arts schools around this area. So it was a one-way trip to the Southern Islands or bust. But Ori didn't mind. Even as he clutched his right arm protectively against his healing body while his left fist stretched straight out in front of him directing his flight, nothing could wipe the smirk from his lips. Ori had gotten wind of a special island exclusive to students of the Kame Style of Martial Arts. They called it Training Island, and it was located somewhere within the Southern Islands. Kame. The very name made his blood begin to boil. He very much embodied the age old rivalry his great ancestor had with Muten Roshi and his students. All the way down to the current Crane Hermit Sage, his father Lord Tanshou, and now visited upon Ori's shoulders. He refused to let it die. Not because he respected his great ancestor and wanted to fulfill his wishes. Ori just wanted to kick the shit out of some Turtle School scrubs. It didn't get much more complex than that. [ 524 / 500 ] [ 24 excess words ]
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