Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu : Prologue
Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu (Destruction Whirlwind) : Prologue - Introduction, Saxerei Kitase
Our story opens in a dewy-grassed field, about four miles south of a popular trading city. In this field sits an army of 10,000 men, covered in dark green armor. Their scaled armor and helmets gleam in the moonlight, as each man sat outside his tent. The army was arranged in a defensive circular fashion around a center stage, which was obviously hastily built. Upon it stood another soldier, a man standing six-and-a-half feet tall. He was obviously their leader, delivering a rally speech to his men. Like the majority of his officers, he was lean and well built, but small enough to be maneuverable. At his side, just as all of his cavalry and ambush units possessed, was a long sword, and a "guard blade." The long sword was a traditional sword, while the "guard blade" was a dull but thick blade, made out of a precious metal to be light but durable, which was very useful in defending oneself. The outer edge of the ranks was held by the assault men, outfitted similarly to their leader. The men within the next circle were the spearman division, placed to back up the assault troops. Behind them, the archers and crossbowmen sat, lazing about; among his men, Saxerei's archers were the most laid back, mostly because his footmen were so good that it was rare that an archer die. And, in the innermost circle stood his generals. Each one was clad in a different colored armor, but all had the same texture; scales in the fashion of legendary dragons, helmets adorned with a matching color gem and horns. All of his men gazed up at him, transfixed on his form, lit up by the torches at his side.
"Now is the time, my faithful warriors. Our strength is unmatched, even in the north. We will cross the southern marshlands into the land of Sayotochiri, and smash the coalition forces. They will fall to our indomitable might, and we shall claim all of the southlands. After our victory, our campaign to take the western forests shall be next!" He roared, his men standing and roaring along with him. They raised their arms into the air, their throaty and mighty cries reaching into the heavens.
Saxerei ordered his men to their tents, and they slept easily that night, their spirits preparing for their first real campaign.
Saxerei rose before his soldiers did. In the morning air, his skin felt cool and damp. His shoulders bore tattoos of flames, a symbol of his youth work as a blacksmith. Even his longsword, which had a blood red blade, was his journeyman piece from those days. He placed his hand upon the hilt of this blade. He sat down, the wet dew of the grass dampening his pants. His upper body was somewhat muscular; in his blacksmith days, he'd had much more muscle, but since then, he'd forfeited some of it to regain speed. He stood up again after a small prayer, and walked back into the tent to retrieve his battle garb and armor. With his war outfit now upon his body, he stood tall and proud. He seemed much different beneath his armor. He was louder yet slower, and his sword strokes were more power-oriented as opposed to his natural strategic style. He let loose his bellowing warcry, awakening his men in a rush. His warriors jumped to their feet, and began to prepare for battle. As soon as they'd packed all their supplies up, the men began to march south. The defensive formation remained, except the generals were located on the outside of the army, Saxerei leading, and the supplies carriers stayed safely in the middle. They marched for two days and three nights. On each night, Saxerei rallied his men, calling for them to remain vigilant and cautious. Upon the third night, as his army slept beneath the stars, they were ambushed. From the high hills came flaming arrows and sharpened blades of warriors, protecting their homelands. Saxerei's army quickly arose to the challenge and fought off the ambush squadrons. Their sheer numbers, though, were enough to cause the army to back down, into a half-retreat. Saxerei stayed at the front lines, using both of his blades (considered an atrocity by most, but this made his army twice as effective as most, and was also the reason why his men fought of the ambush troops so well) to slay fighter after fighter who stood before him. His green armor was splattered and drenched in his foes blood, his trusted guards fighting with him until their own death. Saxerei began to fall back as well, and quickly ordered a full-retreat. In terms of casualties, he'd only lost about 8,000 men in the three hour clash, while the loss of both army, militia, and peasant warriors from the coalition topped 25,000. Saxerei soon realized that he'd severely underestimated the sheer number of his foes, and had payed dearly for it. Their retreat was followed closely by their foes. The pursuit subsided only at night, when the army would rest as quickly as possible, and then head back out. They reached the safety of their castle in their homeland, their reserve forces now adding their total to 4,500 men, excluding generals. His men finally could rest fully, and regain their battle prowess.
They were destined to fall, though. In the dark cloak of night, a single traitor opened the gates of the castle to the pursuing forces, who made small tactical strikes. They set the outer walls ablaze, along with all the doors but one, to prevent escape. They set up ballistas at certain areas to decimate sleeping soldiers, and used frontman assault units composed of armored warriors with body-sized shields and eight-foot spears to destroy any opposition. As soon as Saxerei was conscious, he jumped into the battle, forfeiting the protection of armor. He cut down foe after foe, using his highly esteemed "Way of Strategy" fighting style. No warrior, not even from behind, touched him. He fought off wave after wave, and even deflected the arrows of the ballista, slaughtering the archer behind the ballistas in turn. He continued to fight, his muscles churning beneath his hardened skin, his body glowing in the blaze of the night fire. Blood and sweat covered his body, while his blood-soaked blade maimed even more soldiers. He continued fighting, even after his entire army had been killed. No matter how many came, ten, twenty, fifty, they could not overwhelm him. As he stood beneath the blazing gate of his castle, alone, in pain, he roared a mighty roar that shook the ground, and even killed the assailants near him. His eyes burst ablaze, fires streaking from them wildly. The incoming reinforcements fell back, fearful, and retreated south. In the moonlight, bathed in blood and pain, Saxerei stood, his kingdom destroyed by his own ambitions.
Section stats:
2 pages
1,148 words
5,470 characters (no spaces)
6,622 characters (with spaces)
75 lines
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Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu (Destruction Whirlwind) Prologue - Introduction, Myrriak Selnayd
Four years prior to Saxerei's introduction..
A loud, female scream pierced the freezing night air in a small, nameless village. No one dared investigate the screams, flowing out of the house of the leader of the village. Word spread about quickly that three armed men had entered the house just an hour prior, and everyone knew that the head of that house had some rather shady dealings. Inside the house, blood splattered across the traditional rice paper walls in no pattern, drenching furniture and floor mats in a crimson bath. Blue and pink floral patterns on the floors and walls were hidden behind sprays of red, and the floor was cluttered with various overturned furniture.
Two bodies, one of a young girl and another of a late-teens boy, lay on the ground, their bodies horribly cut up, the rough slashes through their skin and clothing dripping with blood. In the room just adjacent to this one, a woman's body was pinned to the wall by a blade through her head and the wall. Blood ran down both sides of her face, and dripped off her chin into a puddle on the floor. Three men, in dark, skin-tight garbs with long, red scarfs and wide straw hats, stood over another man. He was covered in blood, pressed against a bed, pleading. His frail form pushed away from his assailants, even though one was unarmed, while his gray hair tussled about loosely as he shook his head wildly. His loosely-tied robe began to slide off his shoulders, exposing his frailty even more. The men pressed him harder, two of them raising their blades up slightly as if to strike him. The man collapsed, sobbing, and took death cowardly.
From a closet behind them, a boy sat. He'd watched them kill his brother and sister, watched them impale his mother's skull, and watched them torture and butcher his father. He'd not cared for them much, but they were his family, and loved him much. In this closet, his father kept a special weapon from his family's lineage. The "Pike of the Heavens," it was called. Supposedly wielded by his father's great-great-grandfather, for whom he was named after, the pike was said to possess the will of Heaven, and had never been sharpened. He reached for it, hidden in a secret compartment he'd found long ago. He was only eight years old, but he loved to explore and had found it previously. He slipped a finger along the blade, and felt his skin shear against the blade. Even now, more than a hundred years since its last use, the weapon was flawlessly sharp. He took it in his hands, and breathed deeply. He peeked out of the closet, seeing the men still had their backs turned. His shoulder slammed into the door of the closet, sending it flying open. He kicked forward, pike set forward, and struck two of the men down with a single swipe before they could react. The third one, armed with a sword, spun and struck. His strike was high, intended for a throat cut to an adult foe, which whisked over the boy's head. He screamed, and jammed the pike into the man's chest, and fell back. HIs eyes were wide with fear, his hands trembled, his mind scrambled. His vision blurred, and he fell onto his back. His eyes grew aflame, as Saxerei's would on that fated night, and he roared a powerful roar. All was still after.
Section stats:
1 page
580 words
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3,239 characters (with spaces)
38 lines
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Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu (Destruction Whirlwind) - Prologue - Introduction, Denkou Geritsu
One year prior to Saxerei's awakening....
In the western mountains, there was a large fortress. This fortress stood in the middle of a long, extended wall built to keep out invaders from the north, south, and east. A small village was built at the base of these mountains for the guards' families. The most feared and powerful man of them all was Denkou Geritsu. Standing at a massive seven feet and two inches tall, he was an immense warrior rivaled by none. His massive pike weighed more than most men's entire bodies, and his huge form was intimidating enough to cause even the most fearless men to cry out like a child at his sight. His body was scarred from battles long past, his short brown hair sitting upon his head dully. He always wore his dark blue armor, even in sleep, and kept his pike always in hand. He trusted no one, and killed mercilessly any who crossed him. Even his own allies had fallen victim to his blade, but only in dire tension. His was truly a kind and loving soul, and he only fought so hard to protect his beloved mother, with whom he lived. She was elderly, and weakly as well. He cared for her himself, trusting few with her care. He had no wife because he had no interest, and was regarded as a fish who was unable to be caught. Women far and wide sought his affection, but none caught his eye.
One particular day, though, his life was to change. Almost as if ordained by the gods, as the day was rainy and stormy that day. This was to be a blessing in disguise. His love of rain and storms.. only to bring upon him the single greatest and worst day of his life. He was walking home, the rain a welcome refreshment, when he came down the path far enough to bring his village into sight. He could tell immediately something was wrong, and broke out into a run, his massive pike being drawn quickly from his back. As he came close to the village, he made out various bodies in the rain. Thinking it was just some of the villagers, and that the damage to the house had been raiders that had been handled already, he set his pike back upon his back, continuing on. As soon as he saw that the people weren't the villagers, and saw the bloody bodies upon the ground, it was too late. They had surrounded him.
"You.. .. Serpent Gang..." He said, his mouth twisted in rage. He reached back to draw his pike, but before he could set it forward, one of them yelled for him to stop.
"You're that legend, Denkou Geritsu. You will hold or else we shall slay your mother!" He roared viciously. Denkou roared back, a roar equaled by only Saxerei's, and cleaved the warrior into two, splitting him diagonally at the waist. Blood spurted over the ground and the men next to him. Many cried out and fell back. He continued to strike them down, cleaving them cleanly into two pieces. In a blind flurry, he slaughtered them all. Even before realizing his mother's death was due to his lack of control. He came to her body, laying lifeless in the mud and covered in blood, and he knelt next to her, his head drooped and his eyes burning with tears of sorrow. He cared not that hundreds of other villagers were dead, his dear mother was gone, stolen from him by his own emotions... he wept, and sorrow tore his body to pieces. He roared for her, crying to the heavens to return her to him. No God came before him, no angel of death or life came to him.
But a voice did.
"Denkou.. master of the pike, arm of strength.. you must move on, and bear your pain. Traverse this world until one of pure heart you meet. Foster care over this man until you see the blossoming of his love, and then your life's fork shall be before you..." Denkou heard the small, girlish voice call to him from nowhere. Bidding it the will of the heavens, he laid his mother down, and walked through the remains of the village, salvaging anything he could use. His journey began that day, his heart and eyes burning with gentle flames.
Section stats:
1 page
733 words
3,188 characters (no spaces)
3,915 characters (with spaces)
51 lines
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Chapter stats (does not include titles):
3 pages
2,461 words
11,319 characters (no spaces)
13,768 characters (with spaces)
165 lines
Our story opens in a dewy-grassed field, about four miles south of a popular trading city. In this field sits an army of 10,000 men, covered in dark green armor. Their scaled armor and helmets gleam in the moonlight, as each man sat outside his tent. The army was arranged in a defensive circular fashion around a center stage, which was obviously hastily built. Upon it stood another soldier, a man standing six-and-a-half feet tall. He was obviously their leader, delivering a rally speech to his men. Like the majority of his officers, he was lean and well built, but small enough to be maneuverable. At his side, just as all of his cavalry and ambush units possessed, was a long sword, and a "guard blade." The long sword was a traditional sword, while the "guard blade" was a dull but thick blade, made out of a precious metal to be light but durable, which was very useful in defending oneself. The outer edge of the ranks was held by the assault men, outfitted similarly to their leader. The men within the next circle were the spearman division, placed to back up the assault troops. Behind them, the archers and crossbowmen sat, lazing about; among his men, Saxerei's archers were the most laid back, mostly because his footmen were so good that it was rare that an archer die. And, in the innermost circle stood his generals. Each one was clad in a different colored armor, but all had the same texture; scales in the fashion of legendary dragons, helmets adorned with a matching color gem and horns. All of his men gazed up at him, transfixed on his form, lit up by the torches at his side.
"Now is the time, my faithful warriors. Our strength is unmatched, even in the north. We will cross the southern marshlands into the land of Sayotochiri, and smash the coalition forces. They will fall to our indomitable might, and we shall claim all of the southlands. After our victory, our campaign to take the western forests shall be next!" He roared, his men standing and roaring along with him. They raised their arms into the air, their throaty and mighty cries reaching into the heavens.
Saxerei ordered his men to their tents, and they slept easily that night, their spirits preparing for their first real campaign.
Saxerei rose before his soldiers did. In the morning air, his skin felt cool and damp. His shoulders bore tattoos of flames, a symbol of his youth work as a blacksmith. Even his longsword, which had a blood red blade, was his journeyman piece from those days. He placed his hand upon the hilt of this blade. He sat down, the wet dew of the grass dampening his pants. His upper body was somewhat muscular; in his blacksmith days, he'd had much more muscle, but since then, he'd forfeited some of it to regain speed. He stood up again after a small prayer, and walked back into the tent to retrieve his battle garb and armor. With his war outfit now upon his body, he stood tall and proud. He seemed much different beneath his armor. He was louder yet slower, and his sword strokes were more power-oriented as opposed to his natural strategic style. He let loose his bellowing warcry, awakening his men in a rush. His warriors jumped to their feet, and began to prepare for battle. As soon as they'd packed all their supplies up, the men began to march south. The defensive formation remained, except the generals were located on the outside of the army, Saxerei leading, and the supplies carriers stayed safely in the middle. They marched for two days and three nights. On each night, Saxerei rallied his men, calling for them to remain vigilant and cautious. Upon the third night, as his army slept beneath the stars, they were ambushed. From the high hills came flaming arrows and sharpened blades of warriors, protecting their homelands. Saxerei's army quickly arose to the challenge and fought off the ambush squadrons. Their sheer numbers, though, were enough to cause the army to back down, into a half-retreat. Saxerei stayed at the front lines, using both of his blades (considered an atrocity by most, but this made his army twice as effective as most, and was also the reason why his men fought of the ambush troops so well) to slay fighter after fighter who stood before him. His green armor was splattered and drenched in his foes blood, his trusted guards fighting with him until their own death. Saxerei began to fall back as well, and quickly ordered a full-retreat. In terms of casualties, he'd only lost about 8,000 men in the three hour clash, while the loss of both army, militia, and peasant warriors from the coalition topped 25,000. Saxerei soon realized that he'd severely underestimated the sheer number of his foes, and had payed dearly for it. Their retreat was followed closely by their foes. The pursuit subsided only at night, when the army would rest as quickly as possible, and then head back out. They reached the safety of their castle in their homeland, their reserve forces now adding their total to 4,500 men, excluding generals. His men finally could rest fully, and regain their battle prowess.
They were destined to fall, though. In the dark cloak of night, a single traitor opened the gates of the castle to the pursuing forces, who made small tactical strikes. They set the outer walls ablaze, along with all the doors but one, to prevent escape. They set up ballistas at certain areas to decimate sleeping soldiers, and used frontman assault units composed of armored warriors with body-sized shields and eight-foot spears to destroy any opposition. As soon as Saxerei was conscious, he jumped into the battle, forfeiting the protection of armor. He cut down foe after foe, using his highly esteemed "Way of Strategy" fighting style. No warrior, not even from behind, touched him. He fought off wave after wave, and even deflected the arrows of the ballista, slaughtering the archer behind the ballistas in turn. He continued to fight, his muscles churning beneath his hardened skin, his body glowing in the blaze of the night fire. Blood and sweat covered his body, while his blood-soaked blade maimed even more soldiers. He continued fighting, even after his entire army had been killed. No matter how many came, ten, twenty, fifty, they could not overwhelm him. As he stood beneath the blazing gate of his castle, alone, in pain, he roared a mighty roar that shook the ground, and even killed the assailants near him. His eyes burst ablaze, fires streaking from them wildly. The incoming reinforcements fell back, fearful, and retreated south. In the moonlight, bathed in blood and pain, Saxerei stood, his kingdom destroyed by his own ambitions.
Section stats:
2 pages
1,148 words
5,470 characters (no spaces)
6,622 characters (with spaces)
75 lines
~~~
Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu (Destruction Whirlwind) Prologue - Introduction, Myrriak Selnayd
Four years prior to Saxerei's introduction..
A loud, female scream pierced the freezing night air in a small, nameless village. No one dared investigate the screams, flowing out of the house of the leader of the village. Word spread about quickly that three armed men had entered the house just an hour prior, and everyone knew that the head of that house had some rather shady dealings. Inside the house, blood splattered across the traditional rice paper walls in no pattern, drenching furniture and floor mats in a crimson bath. Blue and pink floral patterns on the floors and walls were hidden behind sprays of red, and the floor was cluttered with various overturned furniture.
Two bodies, one of a young girl and another of a late-teens boy, lay on the ground, their bodies horribly cut up, the rough slashes through their skin and clothing dripping with blood. In the room just adjacent to this one, a woman's body was pinned to the wall by a blade through her head and the wall. Blood ran down both sides of her face, and dripped off her chin into a puddle on the floor. Three men, in dark, skin-tight garbs with long, red scarfs and wide straw hats, stood over another man. He was covered in blood, pressed against a bed, pleading. His frail form pushed away from his assailants, even though one was unarmed, while his gray hair tussled about loosely as he shook his head wildly. His loosely-tied robe began to slide off his shoulders, exposing his frailty even more. The men pressed him harder, two of them raising their blades up slightly as if to strike him. The man collapsed, sobbing, and took death cowardly.
From a closet behind them, a boy sat. He'd watched them kill his brother and sister, watched them impale his mother's skull, and watched them torture and butcher his father. He'd not cared for them much, but they were his family, and loved him much. In this closet, his father kept a special weapon from his family's lineage. The "Pike of the Heavens," it was called. Supposedly wielded by his father's great-great-grandfather, for whom he was named after, the pike was said to possess the will of Heaven, and had never been sharpened. He reached for it, hidden in a secret compartment he'd found long ago. He was only eight years old, but he loved to explore and had found it previously. He slipped a finger along the blade, and felt his skin shear against the blade. Even now, more than a hundred years since its last use, the weapon was flawlessly sharp. He took it in his hands, and breathed deeply. He peeked out of the closet, seeing the men still had their backs turned. His shoulder slammed into the door of the closet, sending it flying open. He kicked forward, pike set forward, and struck two of the men down with a single swipe before they could react. The third one, armed with a sword, spun and struck. His strike was high, intended for a throat cut to an adult foe, which whisked over the boy's head. He screamed, and jammed the pike into the man's chest, and fell back. HIs eyes were wide with fear, his hands trembled, his mind scrambled. His vision blurred, and he fell onto his back. His eyes grew aflame, as Saxerei's would on that fated night, and he roared a powerful roar. All was still after.
Section stats:
1 page
580 words
2,661 characters (no spaces)
3,239 characters (with spaces)
38 lines
~~~
Chronicles of the Hakai Senpuu (Destruction Whirlwind) - Prologue - Introduction, Denkou Geritsu
One year prior to Saxerei's awakening....
In the western mountains, there was a large fortress. This fortress stood in the middle of a long, extended wall built to keep out invaders from the north, south, and east. A small village was built at the base of these mountains for the guards' families. The most feared and powerful man of them all was Denkou Geritsu. Standing at a massive seven feet and two inches tall, he was an immense warrior rivaled by none. His massive pike weighed more than most men's entire bodies, and his huge form was intimidating enough to cause even the most fearless men to cry out like a child at his sight. His body was scarred from battles long past, his short brown hair sitting upon his head dully. He always wore his dark blue armor, even in sleep, and kept his pike always in hand. He trusted no one, and killed mercilessly any who crossed him. Even his own allies had fallen victim to his blade, but only in dire tension. His was truly a kind and loving soul, and he only fought so hard to protect his beloved mother, with whom he lived. She was elderly, and weakly as well. He cared for her himself, trusting few with her care. He had no wife because he had no interest, and was regarded as a fish who was unable to be caught. Women far and wide sought his affection, but none caught his eye.
One particular day, though, his life was to change. Almost as if ordained by the gods, as the day was rainy and stormy that day. This was to be a blessing in disguise. His love of rain and storms.. only to bring upon him the single greatest and worst day of his life. He was walking home, the rain a welcome refreshment, when he came down the path far enough to bring his village into sight. He could tell immediately something was wrong, and broke out into a run, his massive pike being drawn quickly from his back. As he came close to the village, he made out various bodies in the rain. Thinking it was just some of the villagers, and that the damage to the house had been raiders that had been handled already, he set his pike back upon his back, continuing on. As soon as he saw that the people weren't the villagers, and saw the bloody bodies upon the ground, it was too late. They had surrounded him.
"You.. .. Serpent Gang..." He said, his mouth twisted in rage. He reached back to draw his pike, but before he could set it forward, one of them yelled for him to stop.
"You're that legend, Denkou Geritsu. You will hold or else we shall slay your mother!" He roared viciously. Denkou roared back, a roar equaled by only Saxerei's, and cleaved the warrior into two, splitting him diagonally at the waist. Blood spurted over the ground and the men next to him. Many cried out and fell back. He continued to strike them down, cleaving them cleanly into two pieces. In a blind flurry, he slaughtered them all. Even before realizing his mother's death was due to his lack of control. He came to her body, laying lifeless in the mud and covered in blood, and he knelt next to her, his head drooped and his eyes burning with tears of sorrow. He cared not that hundreds of other villagers were dead, his dear mother was gone, stolen from him by his own emotions... he wept, and sorrow tore his body to pieces. He roared for her, crying to the heavens to return her to him. No God came before him, no angel of death or life came to him.
But a voice did.
"Denkou.. master of the pike, arm of strength.. you must move on, and bear your pain. Traverse this world until one of pure heart you meet. Foster care over this man until you see the blossoming of his love, and then your life's fork shall be before you..." Denkou heard the small, girlish voice call to him from nowhere. Bidding it the will of the heavens, he laid his mother down, and walked through the remains of the village, salvaging anything he could use. His journey began that day, his heart and eyes burning with gentle flames.
Section stats:
1 page
733 words
3,188 characters (no spaces)
3,915 characters (with spaces)
51 lines
~~~
Chapter stats (does not include titles):
3 pages
2,461 words
11,319 characters (no spaces)
13,768 characters (with spaces)
165 lines