Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or its characters and the mythology is public domain as far as I'm aware.
Myth Cycle: Awakening
Ichigo awoke to a vulture eying him for lunch. "Gaah!" He swatted at the scavenger but it hopped away. After retreating for a few jaunts, the vulture glared at Ichigo, as if questioning the gall of a meal resisting its natural fate. The young man glared back, "I'm not dead yet," but the carrion bird refused to relent. Realizing he was trying to stare down a vulture in a desert… a desert? Ichigo abandoned the contest to look around and confirmed that he was indeed in a desert, though desert would have been a generous description. The land in all directions looked like it had been blasted to its lifeless state. A dry, caked land, void of any visible life save for the vultures and himself. Nothing on the wind smelled of life for miles away… how did he know that? How did he end up in the middle of a desert-of-a-desert? Who was he? He knew his name was Ichigo, like a person knew it was their name being called in a crowd, but he had no idea where had got the name. Just like he could tell from the smell, or lack thereof, on the wind blowing onto his face that he was alone on the wasteland save for the vultures.
Alone, with no idea of who or what he was other than his name, in the middle of a wasteland, and that one vulture was still eying him for lunch. Ichigo looked down onto himself and noted that, while shirtless, he at least had pants and what might politely have once been boots, worn thin and beaten. The jeans weren't in much better shape. With a hand to shield from the glare, Ichgio peeked at the sky, empty of clouds, to note that it was about noon… how the hell did he know that? Okay. So not only did he have a name, clothes, and a sense of smell that he just knew wasn't normal for a human, he also knew how to tell time by the position of the sun. Well that was useful, but what now?
A thought immediately occurred to Ichigo and, facing the wind, he took a long whiff. There! Just a hint, less than a drop of moisture… to the east. He didn't even bother worrying how he could tell directions, but to the east was just the hint, the potential for water, and he was thirsty. "Well," he said to a sidelong glance to the relentless vulture, "I'm not dead yet, I don't plan on dying, but if you still want a meal I'm your only bet here. See ya." And with a wave he started walking. The vulture hopped along after.
For what felt like hours Ichigo walked. There was craggy chasm in his clawing for moisture, his back and shoulders screaming from the layers of burns the sun had laid upon them, but the muscles in his leg kept going. At some point one of the soles of his boots was left behind in the dust of his tracks, only to be picked at briefly by the vulture that still hopped behind him, looking none the less for what must have been hours of travel. The bastard. But the further Ichigo went east, the stronger the smell of water. And as the sun ventured towards the end of its daily journey, other smells began to reach what Ichigo knew had to be an unnatural sense of smell, the pungent odor of animal manure, the carbon soot and grime of exhaust, and the smell of sweat that only came from people hard at labor.
Just as the sun began to touch the edge of the horizon, and the quarter moon began to shine through, Ichigo arrived. At what he wasn't quite sure. He had crested a hill to look down upon a congregation of man, beast, canvas tents and large vehicles with wheels almost as big as the chasses. At the center of this mess was what Ichigo had first detected from a half a day's walk away, an oasis. He looked to his side where the vulture had hopped to a stop, "Heh, still alive." The vulture tilted its head whilst looking at him, "Sorry. But hey, you can probably find a lot to eat here. And I doubt your picky." At that moment a flurry of gunshots cut loose on the far end of the camp, only to be silenced by a storm of gunshots. For a few moments the bustle of the camp halted, as if to clarify what had just happened, but cacophony immediately resumed. Ichigo took it all in, the sight, the sounds, what had obviously just transpired and the place's immediate return to business.
Alright then, time to put his best foot forward, walk tall, but not too tall so as to appear arrogant or better than thou, best to have a stoic, neutral face, so as not to draw more attention than he likely will. It was during these ruminations that absent-mindedly took a step forward… slipped, and rolled down into the camp.
Following a series of ill-placed rocks accompanied by well-timed curses, the young man came to a step with a resounding clap against a large wooden crate. After the dust had settled and the world had stopped rolling, Ichigo righted himself with both hands to support himself. He looked back up the hill from where he had been standing and saw the vulture, if anything he swore it looked amused if vultures could look amused. The bastard. Using the crate he had rolled into for support, Ichigo pulled himself up till he could lean against the crate. He noticed the crate was behind a large, green tent, and from inside he could smell what even he could recognize as food cooking. Briefly his insides were at war as to what he should remedy first, his hunger or his thirst, before realizing that a place that served food would likely serve something to drink as well.
Ichigo found a tent flap and went inside. Ah crap. The floor-space of the tent was filled with tables and chairs, and dominating one end was bar in front of a canvas screen that likely shielded the kitchen area from view. Filling the tables and chairs were men that screamed, growled, and snarled mean, disreputable, and a general lack of hygiene. Thankfully whatever supernal sense of smell had led him here had become muted upon arriving else Ichigo guessed he would have been floored by the array of smells that not only permeated this tent but the camp as a whole, and who knows what this crowd had ate, slept, or lived in.
Most of people, most of whom were men, wore bedraggled clothes interspersed with pieces of armor in varying states of quality. Where one wore a cuirass that was well taken-care-of (Ichigo didn't bother wondering how he could tell) another wore mismatched shoulder-guards that barely stayed in place. In one corner, a large group of men and women sat close together nursing drinks with glares pointed outwards like a barrier of spears. This group wore more or less matching gray uniforms under pieces of silver-painted armor, arm and shin-guards and a breastplate, that looked as well-maintained as the varied guns and blades. As well-used as well. On the right should of each uniform was a patch in the shape and color of a cherry-blossom. This bunch looked to have surrounded someone like a wagon-train, and not wanting to earn their attention Ichigo only glanced as to who they were protecting.
In the heart of the cherry-blossom group sat a tiny, dark-haired woman that couldn't have been more out of place if she tried. While her clothes were suited for travel, a traveling cloak draped on the back, riding pants, and a light grey jacket, they were obviously cut above everything else in the tent, Hel, they were probably a cut above everything else in the whole camp. She sat with her back straight as she carefully and neatly finished eating what looked like… a steak! And… oh crap one of the bodyguards (for what else could they be) had noticed, a tall man with bright red hair and a tattoos on his face as well as a promise for immediate violence towards Ichigo. Not to be intimidated Ichigo glared back at the red-head without flinching before taking a cautious step back- Ah shit!
Paying more focus on the uniformed group and their obviously high-class charge than he should have, Ichigo hadn't been paying enough attention to his surroundings. In his attempt to carefully back away from the bodyguards Ichigo had backed into a waitress, one of a few, carrying a tray full of drinks. Startled the waitress spilled everything in the tray on a massive, bearded man who… yup, wore spiked shoulder-pads.
"You little bitch!" Spike-pads yelled as he rose up, revealing a large belly that rolled out from under a breastplate and massive arms with equally massive hands, one of which began to tighten around a sawed-off shotgun. The other hand reached for the waitress, a girl who couldn't have been over fifteen, but before the hand reached her it was intercepted by another. To his chagrin Ichigo realized that the hand gripping Spike-pad's was his own.
Ah crap.