Private Tales The Glory in Failure

[Wakasugi Touma]

“You want to know the difference between a master and a beginner? The master has failed more times than the beginner has even tried.”
-Unknown​

Typical was a word that Touma would use to describe his day, even if today was spent in town. One of many, in his travels...to a point where all of them more or less seemed to look the same. Perhaps the ronin had seen so many in his travels...or he had given up caring. There were people living here or there, and they all had stories to tell...to bad not all of them wanted to tell it to the likes of him.

He was an outsider, clearly, not wearing any of the same clothes nor even possessing weapons that looked anything remotely like those crafted around these parts. These parts being...was it near Elbion? Or was it called Allria? It was frankly embarrassing that he'd not remember...but after a time, even bigger cities started to blend together...

But that was all besides the point...it was just another day on the road; with the sun in the clear side and the people bustling here and there. He was walking along the beaten road in the town, following the crowed on one side while those on the other passed him by. He had his hands folded, eyes drifted from object to people back to objects.

There wasn't really much that happened, which wasen't as much as a suprise then what most people woujld think. 50% of the time it be some crazy adventure, other 50% of the time nothing really happened. Except this time was part of the latter 50%...as his eyes drifted onto this particular fellow to the side...
Flint

 

[Flint]

"Empty yer purse, barber. Lest you lose those valued hands of yers".

Flint's shoulders slackened as he found himself surrounded by a foursome of thugs, each brandishing their own nasty looking weapon. While cutting down alleys to shorten his daily journeys seemed smart in thought, it turned out to be a fairly questionable tactic in practice. Rather than give up without a fight, the barber drew his own blade, a dagger he'd always kept on him, just in case.

The result was humiliating. Consecutively, the thugs erupted in laughter, the one whod spoken piping up again, waving a sword in the barber's face. "Ye reckon ye can even nick me before i have yer heart?", he jeered, though his jests quickly shifted to a scream, followed by more than enough swearing.

The reason being, of course, that with a flick of the wrist, Flint had loosed the knife from his hand, the deadly blade soaring through the air and embedding itself in the thug's leg. The man crumpled, and Flint made to break past him. Unfortunately, the barber was caught by the thugs at his back, pulled to the ground, and beaten liberally.

The barber laid groaning for a time, bruised and bloodied. Then, Flint staggered to his feet, limping from the alley. He passed by the blade held by his assailant, eyeing its edge, much longer than that of his knife. Perhaps he needed to ramp up his arsenal.

As he rounded the corner, he was faced with a rather unusual looking man, carrying an unusual looking sword. He reckoned someone carrying such an unusual looking weapon had a good reason for doing so. Perhaps he held the answer to Flint's weaponry woes. The barber waved the man down, wary of his beaten appearance. "Well met", he greeted, his voice something of a croak. "May I ask where you got that sword?"
Wakasugi Touma