A loner stood by his lonesome within the shallow width of a clearing, held high by what stones were set beneath him in the flowing waters of a water fall.
His eyes shown bright in the color of emerald green against the permeating sheen of the pale moon light, an omnipresent gleam showing the a distant fire of a fighters spirit within. The mysterious loner stood at the crest of the falls, an altogether small and stalwart collection of gray stone that had smoothed with the passage of water over their ash-like surface throughout the ages, the height of which stood at the length of about three men. High above, the moon emanated a nocturnal glow that shown bright overhead, gleaming through the canopy of leaves from whence the trees reached out over the forest floor. Flowing locks of pitch black hair trickled freely about the vulpines head, crossed only by what ash-gray ears poked out past the span of an engraved metal stamped cloth head-band, hung close over the crest of his forehead. A muzzle protruded outwards in a sloped, downwards arc, ended with a thick black nose at its center. With a fur coat much the same in that ashen gray hue covering his body, it was offset only by what white highlights stood out at his muzzle, cheeks, neck, chest, and tummy. His structured form like a toned statue fashioned of the finest granite, sculptured to reflect the pronounced texture of a physically fit and adept form in body.
Arms hanging low at either side in his partly exposed form, his head tilted rightwards ever so slightly as his eyes glazed over the surrounding wilds in a passing glance. While much of his form was veiled in shadow, there was the faint glimmer of his eyes in what dim lighting the moon could afford. He could only look down with a sense of embittered antipathy and condemnation for what remainder of landscape stretched before him. Though, in truth, it was not the wilds that he harbored a resentment for, but rather the world at large. A blameless sense of conviction in judgment that he would pass on the face of the world, he would suppose at the back of his mind..though he felt to be little more than a ghost at this point in time. A hero forgotten by most, if not all, in spite of what accomplishments had been achieved in the face of adversity time and time again, owing much to those that he held in the highest regard, only to be gone now. Gone, little more than what dust, what cadavers lined what tombs or caskets that had been wrought to house them as a testament to their passing...or worse, left to become little more than a memory in having disappeared over the ages. Perhaps the greatest sense of dissonance hanging at the back of his mind centered on the fact that he could never again experience such a sense of hopeful optimism as he had in fonder years..and for that, he felt bitter.
The world changed around him, seemingly overnight what had come in the passage of years. New ideals, a shifting worlds view beheld by those people that saw to the future rather than hold any regard for the past that had come before it. What traditions and customs were spurned as newfound ideals were embraced whole heartedly by some, the world then changed in its entirety with such widespread influence. One quickly becomes a shadow in light of such a fact, and with the loss of friends and dear compatriots along the way, it was easy to be lost to a longstanding sense of nostalgia. So true had he lived his life as but a leaf caught in the gale of the winds, a sliver of straw left to waver freely in the passing of the currents, at the mercy of the rivers flow. It was how he had seen his life since child hood to adulthood, and having lived such a long and illustrious life, he'd seen much. He'd seen kingdoms rise and fall throughout the tumultuous movements of the world to lands end, in lieu of the most ethereal and supernatural of calamities that had threatened the longstanding peace and prosperity enjoyed by most, to the lowliest of would-be heroes and adventurers that took to the roads for fame and fortune. It felt to be only yesterday he'd taken to the trails in a path set by his older brother in his youth, to prove himself a hero and adventurer in moving forwards in life, with no permanent home to return to as he would wander like the ronin he had become in later years..
The ultimate truth of the matter was that there was no way but forwards, and only time would tell what fate had in store for him in looking to the future. He'd only hope that whatever end to meet him in the coming days would paint him in a more honorable light than anything, and in admonishment for his sins. As the thought came to pass, a fell wind blew through the shallow clearing surrounding the lower span of the falls, a cacophony set in motion as the canopies of leaves rustled at the touch of the passing gale...
Commentary:
Kayashi Ikeda, depicted in his older years in an alternate look to an earlier picture titled “Uncertain Future.” Being a kitsune, he enjoys a particular longevity to his life that most mortal creatures otherwise wouldn't, and as such, has seen a great many things throughout the course of his life. In his later years, having lost most of his closest friends and a few lovers over the course of his life, in lieu of the intense fighting he's borne witness to, he's become embittered, cynical, and world-weary at this point in his life. Faced with an ever-changing world, he's not entirely certain how to proceed forwards. As a member of the fabled Yashoda Clan that clung stubbornly to age old values in the way of the sword, he has become much the same way. Wisdom and knowledge achieved through years of learning on the wayward paths of the roads to the here and now, though, as the world begins to more quickly modernize, it becomes clearer that his path out of this world may very well be on the battlefields in a pool of blood than to peacefully fade away in a warm bed..
This is another Cintiq Companion creation, something I ported over to the lappy after I had finished this on a trip.
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9 years, 7 months ago
02 Sep 2014 22:01 CEST
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