Author's Notes:
OK, so this is a story that I have been meaning to post for awhile…Rickashay will probably kill me for not posting this earlier…I'm sorry!
So this story plot and such popped into existence when we were discussing the horrors that are Zutara (sorry Zutara worshippers, but I dislike the idea) and the hotness of Ozai (because he's a sexy beast)
Anyways, I must credit part of this to her…
So this is a mostly OC story, happening during the TV show, and there won't be much interaction with cannon characters….I'm thinking Iroh might pop up as a cameo…
The rest of the story will not be written like this…I just tried this for the prologue…so do not fear how much this sucks, because the rest of the story will not be like this!
Character Notes:
Kensin is not based off of Kenshin from Rurouni Kenshin, and I hope that become apparent…the weapon that he uses is called a "urumi" and you can look it up online…it is quite cool.
The song that the old woman sings is "Doraji", a Korean folk song if wikipedia is correct…
If I made any errors about Asian influences from our world please don't hesitate to tell me so I can make this story as good as possible.
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Stories of Blood
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The smell of scorched flesh reached nostrils that curl back in disgust. A hand is raked through black strands of hair previously tucked back in a gleaming coil with impatience. Dark eyes dart around, quickly taking in the current surroundings. It is mentally noted that the thick covering of green would work as excellent coverage in the mind of the hidden figure.
Standing up from the uncomfortable position of crouching on the dirt, sticks, leaves, and other things, the bones and muscles screaming in process, he tried to bite back the groan of slight pain.
"I better get paid well for this" his voice, gruff from disuse, hissed at hog monkey staring at him in slight curiosity.
Deciding that it was high time that something was done about the empty feeling in his pockets Kensin slid into position behind one of the guards, unhooking the urumi from around his waist. Again brushing back that annoying patch of hair away from eye sight and huffing irately he flung it out, the only warning the slight sound of his breathing.
The numerous blades sliced easily through flesh, dragging lines of red and tearing cloth as if it was liquid.
A startled yelp is all that the solider can make before cold steel wraps around his neck, cutting deeply and instantly killing.
The next guard is killed in much the same way, as is the one that follows.
'This is a waste of my time' Eyes are rolled heavenward in exasperation 'This is hardly worth that hefty sum.
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"It's so cold…where's mommy?"
"Shh. The guards might hear Bo!"
"I can't find mommy!"
"Bo! The guards!"
"MOMMY!"
A gasp escapes tiny pink lips as a pair of hands shove her into a wall, making her head crack behind her, hair only slightly taking in some of the shock.
Then she fell forward, trying desperately to grasp at thin air with dirty fingers. It's an useless effort since she falls on her face, barely avoiding breaking the tender cartilage that protrudes.
One of the children snickers in the corner.
"Told you so."
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If one was up in the middle of the night and peered out of their window, straining their ears, they might have heard her.
"Doraji, doraji, doraji! I walk over the pass where doraji flowers bloom. It is a path familiar to me. Hey yeah hey!" A wobbling voice, weary with age and drink quietly sang, stringy gray falling haphazardly to make the sound slightly muffled.
"Doraji, doraji-"
"Civilian, why are you not at home? Curfew is at ten sharp." Grabbing an arm with skin wrinkled and hanging from the bone, the skull-masked man gruffly asked, effectively stopping the singing for a few moments.
Then she started up again, beady black eyes sizing him up.
"Doraji, doraji, doraji! I look at these while flowers remind me of my mother, in the evening with the twinkling stars-"
"Stop singing and go home!" Sweat began to pile on the man's forehead at the way those black eyes sized him up. It was like a hawk before it swooped into feast on a chicken rat.
He gulped loudly, hoping that she couldn't see the fear. It would give her a false sense of power, and she was only an old woman after all…
…right?
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"You'll make the perfect bride."
"A vision of beauty."
"Our young lord shall be most pleased!"
Tittering women gathered around her, crooning compliments into her ear, pulling the sashes around her tighter.
She supposes that if she were shallow and vapid with no mind than she would enjoy this, and blush good-naturedly at all of the falsities thrown at her in rapid succession.
Rolling her eyes at air-heads surrounding her Hye wished with every fiber of her being that she could run far away from the stool she stood on. She knew that there were worse fates than an arranged marriage by far, she wasn't oblivious to the war that was happening outside of her window, or pretending and wishing that it weren't there.
'If I wasn't getting married I could be a solider, fighting for my country', she thinks bitterly 'And actually be doing something worthwhile instead of making a pompous man even richer.'
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Pulling the hood tighter around his head Cheung tried desperately to tuck a fiery strand of hair back behind his ear. It wouldn't do to have the whole village thinking him a demon before he could get a hot meal in his stomach.
Cursing the flame locks that adorned his head he once again considered cutting it off, so that he would have some semblance of fitting in amongst the other refugees.
In times of war people were not the most accepting, and ones different from the norm were met with suspicion and hostility. When anyone could be the enemy it was easiest to single out the face different from the others.
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Prologue end!
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Please review and tell me how much you hate or love it…just please review!