[x] Tell the story
Perform Storytelling Roll: 6k4=45 (Void spent. You have one remaining today.)
For a moment you forget how to breathe. This is the moment Yasuki Goro spoke of all those months ago, the primary reason why you have been brought to these far off lands away from your home. Now that the time has come, you're not entirely certain what to do with yourself.
A strange terror grips your heart, different from seeing one of the brutal monsters you're so used to combating. These people are judging you, weighing you, and their actions will determine whether or not your mission succeeds or fails. Your Clan needs these resources, and you are one of the tools that will help procure them. So much responsibility rests on you, and you can't help but wonder if this is how the Yasuki feel all the time when performing their duties for the Crab.
And then you take a breath, forcing yourself to relax. Fear is to be overcome, even when it takes forms you are unused to. With that thought comes steadiness, and your unease looses its grip upon your heart. This is but another trial to overcome, and you will not fail.
"If all wish it, then will share the truth of what happened that day," you say, your voice rising just a bit more than you intended as you stand up. "I will tell you my part in the Battle of Skulking Shadows!"
With great detail you describe the ever clouded sky, as well as that feeling of claustrophobia that assaulted you walking by the bone white trees, some with human faces that you were sure wished to snatch you up into their terrible embrace. You move on to when you slept within the rocky cleft of the hill, and of the strange woman who woke you but a few hours later with her weeping as she begged for aid.
"But as she turned around, I saw a terrible wound on her legs that did not bleed. It was then I realized that Yori was dead, and had been for days. But how could this be? The undead are mindless, and Yori could speak like any other."
Eyes widen as you tell of the woman's screams of denial, of her skin sloughing off. A few people even gasp when you tell of the Kansen that tormented the poor peasant girl, and how you drove it away with your jade before smashing apart her shambling corpse when it attacked you. You hang your head low as you describe the pain in your face, running a hand across the faded scars over your eye.
"And it was then that I met Gazat'ken, one of the brave Nezumi scouts! He had heard my fight in the distance, and smelled something foul on the wind. Risking his own life, he ran out to take me to his den before what he scented could reach me." You give a devilish grin, showing your teeth. "It is good he did, for in that mad dash we heard a screech on the wind of something truly massive, and as we lay inside the tunnels of Gazat'ken's warren it was as if the very earth shook. We lay there for several minutes listening, before eventually the beast left to seek slower prey."
Next is the description of the warren itself, so full of clutter, and of Gazat'ken's companions. You tell of how you rested that night, but do not share the dream. That is yours, and yours alone. What you do share, however, is how Talak'tet wished your aid in catching the Warmonger.
You swing an arm as you describe the fight, of how you rushed forward and lay into the goblins like a furious wind. But, of course, you do not take all the glory. You tell of the Nezumi's actions, how they flanked the little monsters and kept them from organizing properly. In the end, it the fight is told how it happened. The goblins all died, and the warmonger was taken captive.
"But then, from the darkness of the cave, came a new threat. Hulking and scarred, an ogre emerged and revealed itself to the light of the day. The beast was disorientated, and I knew that we had only a few seconds with which to act before it charged!"
Your telling of the fight is even quicker paced than that of the goblins, going into great depth about the frantic assault to slay the ogre before it could recover. Alas, it was not to be. You touch your ribs as you tell of how the monster slammed its crude club into your chest, recalling the fire that coursed through you as you were almost sent flying. You returned the favor with a strike that would have sent a man to his knees, but the ogre merely bellowed in rage and kept up its assault.
Then you describe the Nezumi frantically throwing themselves onto the ogre's back, stabbing it again and again to bring the thing down before it killed someone. The Nezumi were swift and agile, twisting and turning as the ogre reached back to swat them off. It seemed for a few moments that they'd be able to dodge the beast entirely.
"Alas, Jarit'ya would not be quite so fortunate," you say, holding clenched hands before you. "For the terrible creature reached back with one clawed hand and threw him into the side of the hill, cratering it and almost slaying him outright. Furious, I rushed forward and shattered the ogre's knee with a blow that could have felled a towering tree. And like a tree, so did the ogre fall. So broken was the beast that I slew it with one last blow to its neck, ending its life."
The interrogation of the Warmonger is given only a few quick details, for you've no wish to recount your shame at being so easily goaded by a goblin into nearly killing it. You spend far more time going on about the plans you located detailing the assault on both Shiro Hiruma and Shinsei's Last Hope, eventually touching on the Warmonger's confirmation under the… ministrations of Zara'hala.
Onward you speak, telling of the plan you and the Nezumi concocted. Zara'hala and Faran'tek would race toward Shiro Hiruma, while Gazat'ken made his way to Shinsei's Last Hope. And all while this happened, you would carry the injured Jarit'ya upon your back so that he would not be left alone in the Shadowlands to die.
"We passed a full day like that together, myself and Talak'tet. Jarit'ya, so terribly wounded, faded in and out of consciousness as we walked. He mumbled of ancient times, of glory lost, but I will not share those with you now. Those are stories in their own right, and worthy of their own tellings without the distraction of my own tale."
With Talak'tet's parting the next day, you continue on with your march across the Shadowlands with Jarit'ya nestled on your shoulders. You make sure to stress you focused on endurance rather than speed, for you could not afford to wear yourself out in such a dangerous place. To do so would only leave you lessened, and that was far too great a risk to take.
The ever-present smell of decay, the awful clouds above… There is no escaping just how terrible the Shadowlands are, and you make sure all in the room realize that just walking within that realm was a burden. Even without encountering the inhabitants of that place, it forces a soul deep weariness that drains the spirit and weakens the flesh.
It is as if you are caught in a furious tide as you tell the tale, swept along as you speak. The words tumble from your lips, painting a picture of your experiences. Your voice seems to fill the whole room, and everyone looks at you with rapt attention as you push forward with this fragment of your past. You cannot stop now even if you wanted to, for you have become a vessel for the story.
"But I did indeed see more denizens of that wretched, hell-touched land,' you growl. "Three men, Lost and given over to the touch of Jigoku itself. They sat around a fire amongst a forest of broken stone. I crept close to them, hidden as best I could manage. They spoke of attacking a Nezumi, Gazat'ken, and one talked at length of his desire to eat him. But as they spoke, I learned the name of our enemy, the one directing these attacks." You pause briefly for dramatic effect, making sure everyone is hanging on your words. "They called him Kyosuke."
You go on to tell of that tense moment hiding, of the Lost looking for you after hearing the noise of your passage. It was not fear for your own safety that held you back, but rather concern for your charge. Jarit'ya had been injured in valiant combat against a terrible foe, and could not defend himself. A good ally does not immediately charge toward the enemy when other goals take precedence, and you had given your word you'd see Jarit'ya safe. So it was that when the Lost returned to their fire, you slipped away.
"I walked through the night, carrying Jarit'ya on my back," you say. "I feel no shame in admitting I was exhausted, and my steps soon felt like boulders had been tied to my legs. Our goal was so close, and yet at the same time seemed as far as heaven rests from the earth. It is difficult, sometimes, to measure these things within the Shadowlands. Even still, I marched on. If Gazat'ken had fallen, it would be up to me to tell the defenders at Shinsei's Last Hope the attack that lay in store for them."
That march… Words do not do it justice, even now. You speak of weariness so deep it was as if you were within a waking dream, of how you could hardly tell where you were any more after exerting yourself for so long. But this cannot grasp the true scope of it, cannot fully measure this time you can hardly remember. Time and space had lost all meaning, becoming ephemeral and indistinct. All that existed then was you, Jarit'ya and the march. Nothing else had mattered.
"And then, through eyes so heavy it was as if I carried mountains upon them, I saw the radiance of the dawn," you exclaim, throwing your arms wide. "The glorious sun shown only the barest slivers of light through the terrible clouds, but to me it was one of the most wondrous sights I had ever seen. For there, before me, lay Shinsei's Last Hope." You smile. "I had arrived first, and only as a patrol of Bushi came by did I allow my exhaustion to overtake me, alerting them of the attack just moments before I collapsed. When I awoke, the battle was finished."
You pause a moment, letting them take that in. Even the Mirumoto guards have their eyes locked on you now, taken in by your story. For a brief moment you consider telling of meeting Kyosuke in your dream, but dismiss the thought swiftly. That touches too close to the spirit who aided you, and you've no wish to potentially anger her by revealing her existence to all these people.
"But I was not the true hero that day!" you continue, not shouting but projecting your voice none-the-less. A few in the audience jump in their seats at that. "Gazat'ken, wounded and poisoned, had made it to Shinsei's Last Hope. His warning prepared the defenders for the assault, suffering agony beyond comprehension as the poison destroyed him from within." You voice softens. "His fur coming out in clumps, his breathing ragged… He could not even see anything anymore." You bow your head low. "I stayed by his side as he died, the true savior of Shinsei's Last Hope."
No one speaks as you sit back down, the silence covering the room like a blanket. It is as if the castle is holding its breath, shocked speechless by the story you have told. Everyone is looking at you with wide eyes, some having even dropped their jaws in shock. Words hold power, and yours have obviously left their mark.
Even with Shirou encouraging you to hold a better opinion of yourself, you're not entirely certain why they look at you so. You might have played a part in the Battle of Skulking Shadows, but you were not the hero. The hero of that fight died while you held his hand, died so thousands could live.
You close your eyes a moment to thank the Nezumi for his sacrifice, and when you open them again you see your fellow Samurai have managed to collect themselves somewhat. They're still staring at you, but the shock has faded to mere bewilderment instead of awe.
[] Remain silent.
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