I have no idea why I wrote this, and I have no idea where this is going. Right now, I guess you can call this a teaser. As soon as I figure out which time period I want to put this in, I'll write the next chappie. However, that might take a while. Gomen. Neewayz, enjoy!
Disclaimers: I do not own Inuyasha.
Claims: I own this story plot. If I see anything similiar to this, be warned, I will flame.
To Walk the Line
Prologue
----------------
Woosh!
The wind whistled as the blade of his sword sliced through the air. Gracefully, he began an intricate kata, the very one that had been passed down to him upon the death of his late father. Faster and faster the blade whistled through the air, almost shaping the wind as it became but a silver blur; too fast for the human eye to see. His feet moved across the polished wooden floor of the dojo; so fast and swift was he, that they looked as if they never touched the ground. Rather, he almost seemed to be flying.
Something tugged at his conscience, refusing to be ignored. With an irritated sigh, he stopped the kata midway through and returned the sword to its' sheath. Turning around, he fixed a cold glare at the intruder that dared to interrupt him. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The figure was leaning against the wall to the left of the door, shadows shrouding it. It laughed softly, letting him know that it was a female. "My, my," it said softly and somewhat mockingly, much to his discomfort, "what a rude little boy you are."
He narrowed his eyes; the nerve of that woman! How dare she!?! "State your buisness and begone." he said in a dangerous, icy tone.
"Humph!" the woman sniffed, as if he was below her, "I don't see why I should bother. You would obviously be of no help at all."
The sound of steel against steel echoed throughout the room as he drew his sword out of his scabbard. "Leave. Now." he stated bluntly, but his voice was sharp, as sharp as the blade he held.
There was a pause. Then, the unexpected visitor shifted slightly. Still in the shadows, she bowed and softly said, "Gomen nasai, Sesshoumaru-san."
Surprisingly, she truly did sound sorry. However, what bothered Sesshoumaru was the fact that he voice had sounded different; a bit younger, a bit warmer, and a bit less scathing. 'Why does she sound so different?' Sesshoumaru asked himself. "Come out so I can see you." he commanded.
There was a sigh and then the visitor pushed off of the wall and walked into the light. In one glance, Sesshoumaru assessed her. Beautiful raven black hair fell past her shoulders, mysterious purple eyes looked right back at him, and a lithe body with a fair complexion finished her off.
'Weak.' Sesshoumaru scoffed in his mind, 'She probably couldn't even hold out in a fight with the lowest of the low.' Even so, Sesshoumaru kept his guard up: Never underestimate your enemies. That was the one rule that had let him survive for this long, he wasn't about to go against it now. Frankly, something about her unsettled him, as much as he would hate to admit it. He pointed his sword at her throat and demanded, "Identify yourself."
The figure bowed once and straightened. "Who are we?" she asked in yet another voice. This time, however, it had an echoing like quality to it. It wasn't young or old, wasn't cold or warm; it was a mix, impassive, not of this world. "You, Sesshoumaru, may call us...Midoriko."
Disclaimers: I do not own Inuyasha.
Claims: I own this story plot. If I see anything similiar to this, be warned, I will flame.
To Walk the Line
Prologue
----------------
Woosh!
The wind whistled as the blade of his sword sliced through the air. Gracefully, he began an intricate kata, the very one that had been passed down to him upon the death of his late father. Faster and faster the blade whistled through the air, almost shaping the wind as it became but a silver blur; too fast for the human eye to see. His feet moved across the polished wooden floor of the dojo; so fast and swift was he, that they looked as if they never touched the ground. Rather, he almost seemed to be flying.
Something tugged at his conscience, refusing to be ignored. With an irritated sigh, he stopped the kata midway through and returned the sword to its' sheath. Turning around, he fixed a cold glare at the intruder that dared to interrupt him. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
The figure was leaning against the wall to the left of the door, shadows shrouding it. It laughed softly, letting him know that it was a female. "My, my," it said softly and somewhat mockingly, much to his discomfort, "what a rude little boy you are."
He narrowed his eyes; the nerve of that woman! How dare she!?! "State your buisness and begone." he said in a dangerous, icy tone.
"Humph!" the woman sniffed, as if he was below her, "I don't see why I should bother. You would obviously be of no help at all."
The sound of steel against steel echoed throughout the room as he drew his sword out of his scabbard. "Leave. Now." he stated bluntly, but his voice was sharp, as sharp as the blade he held.
There was a pause. Then, the unexpected visitor shifted slightly. Still in the shadows, she bowed and softly said, "Gomen nasai, Sesshoumaru-san."
Surprisingly, she truly did sound sorry. However, what bothered Sesshoumaru was the fact that he voice had sounded different; a bit younger, a bit warmer, and a bit less scathing. 'Why does she sound so different?' Sesshoumaru asked himself. "Come out so I can see you." he commanded.
There was a sigh and then the visitor pushed off of the wall and walked into the light. In one glance, Sesshoumaru assessed her. Beautiful raven black hair fell past her shoulders, mysterious purple eyes looked right back at him, and a lithe body with a fair complexion finished her off.
'Weak.' Sesshoumaru scoffed in his mind, 'She probably couldn't even hold out in a fight with the lowest of the low.' Even so, Sesshoumaru kept his guard up: Never underestimate your enemies. That was the one rule that had let him survive for this long, he wasn't about to go against it now. Frankly, something about her unsettled him, as much as he would hate to admit it. He pointed his sword at her throat and demanded, "Identify yourself."
The figure bowed once and straightened. "Who are we?" she asked in yet another voice. This time, however, it had an echoing like quality to it. It wasn't young or old, wasn't cold or warm; it was a mix, impassive, not of this world. "You, Sesshoumaru, may call us...Midoriko."