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informs
Aug. 15th, 2012 04:15 amserene_manTo say that Shizuo was unlucky was a bit of an understatement.
From the time of his birth through his boyhood years and into the slow progression of adulthood, he'd been gifted (cursed) with incredible strength the likes of which had never before been seen in his modest little hamlet. Few could fathom the source of his power, but the old, wizened scholars that visited would often mutter something about "lucky stars" and "destiny", but they refused to say much more on that. Not that Shizuo really cared either way; with his monstrous strength came a number of pitfalls, each one more depressing than the last.
In his youth, he would be too rough with the other boys during play. In his teenage years, he would be cajoled into beating most of the kids in the hamlet to near-death, and the same held true when he passed into manhood. The few that picked fights with him were usually a jealous lot, and though Shizuo had been told time and time again not to give them an ear, his temper still snapped like a twig the second the catcalls started.
He was a simple farmer's son. He just wanted to be left alone.
But destiny, as it was wont to do, intervened, and he found himself the squire of a passing knight. When the knight was killed, Shizuo became knight in his stead, wearing the chipped armor with pride as he made his way around the countryside. There was money to be found in jousting and bounties, and he spent many years doing just that while making a name for himself. Though not of royal blood, his reputation preceded him everywhere he want, short temper and all, and the people that dared to protest against his existence were few and far between. He had done enough good to warrant himself a small following that vehemently defended him when his name was being dragged in the mud, though he did not know this himself, and an even larger group that would see his head on a plate.
But that didn't matter to him. He was just a simple knight. He just wanted to be left alone.
Perhaps it was because of this that he found himself here now, standing on a dirt path that was surrounded on all sides by lethal thornbushes. Before him lay the ruins of a majestic castle, with arching pillars half-crumbled by age, and great towers that looked as though they were built to touch the sky. The whole of the fortress was covered in thick, wild ivy that twisted its way over the walls in fierce possession. There was treasure within, Shizuo knew, and he would have to cut his way into the very heart of the fortress to get to it.
He was not entirely good with rescuing princesses -- most of them tended to try to marry him halfway into it, or they screamed annoyingly for hours on end -- but this. This he could do. He could do the treasure-hunting. He could fight the potential dragon that loomed inside if he had to, he had done it plenty of times before.
It was with this thought in mind that he pulled his horse gently and nudged the sides of her with his heels. Mochi neighed once, then lurched forward and began to pick her way across thick tree roots and to the castle ahead.
From the time of his birth through his boyhood years and into the slow progression of adulthood, he'd been gifted (cursed) with incredible strength the likes of which had never before been seen in his modest little hamlet. Few could fathom the source of his power, but the old, wizened scholars that visited would often mutter something about "lucky stars" and "destiny", but they refused to say much more on that. Not that Shizuo really cared either way; with his monstrous strength came a number of pitfalls, each one more depressing than the last.
In his youth, he would be too rough with the other boys during play. In his teenage years, he would be cajoled into beating most of the kids in the hamlet to near-death, and the same held true when he passed into manhood. The few that picked fights with him were usually a jealous lot, and though Shizuo had been told time and time again not to give them an ear, his temper still snapped like a twig the second the catcalls started.
He was a simple farmer's son. He just wanted to be left alone.
But destiny, as it was wont to do, intervened, and he found himself the squire of a passing knight. When the knight was killed, Shizuo became knight in his stead, wearing the chipped armor with pride as he made his way around the countryside. There was money to be found in jousting and bounties, and he spent many years doing just that while making a name for himself. Though not of royal blood, his reputation preceded him everywhere he want, short temper and all, and the people that dared to protest against his existence were few and far between. He had done enough good to warrant himself a small following that vehemently defended him when his name was being dragged in the mud, though he did not know this himself, and an even larger group that would see his head on a plate.
But that didn't matter to him. He was just a simple knight. He just wanted to be left alone.
Perhaps it was because of this that he found himself here now, standing on a dirt path that was surrounded on all sides by lethal thornbushes. Before him lay the ruins of a majestic castle, with arching pillars half-crumbled by age, and great towers that looked as though they were built to touch the sky. The whole of the fortress was covered in thick, wild ivy that twisted its way over the walls in fierce possession. There was treasure within, Shizuo knew, and he would have to cut his way into the very heart of the fortress to get to it.
He was not entirely good with rescuing princesses -- most of them tended to try to marry him halfway into it, or they screamed annoyingly for hours on end -- but this. This he could do. He could do the treasure-hunting. He could fight the potential dragon that loomed inside if he had to, he had done it plenty of times before.
It was with this thought in mind that he pulled his horse gently and nudged the sides of her with his heels. Mochi neighed once, then lurched forward and began to pick her way across thick tree roots and to the castle ahead.
