A fire crackled in a central firepit of a small hut, and the smell of freshly brewed tea wafts from the hole in the roof. The soft patter of rain outside, and the warmth of the fire eased Basos' mind as he held his mug, filling it with the hot refreshing brew. He set down the old, battered pot he had owned for who knows how long, turning his blue eyes to his cup, and saw himself in its reflection; grizzled, aging defender who had started to turn towards an easier life.

He lost himself in the memories of fending off raiding parties from their neighbors to the north, the countless times that they had landed, only to be pushed back or defeated fully. He shook his head lightly, and drank from the cup, downing half the contents slowly. The drink had been a mix of mint and some ginger root that a passing merchant had on hand.

In the distance, a sound of thunder boomed, and Baso could feel it go through him, and his eyes darted towards his armor and weapon on their stands next to his bed. The sound had reminded him of the few times he had been in battle with catapults, and the damage they could reap. His body shuddered slightly at a particular memory of being hurled down a flight of steps from one such boulder, and the smell of burning hair. Other memories of his kanabo, the large studded club that had saved his life... and been a helpful backscratcher at other times, where it stood up to the toughest of steel weapons, besting them, before knocking their users a couple dozen paces back,

His smile picked up at the memory, and the old times where he stood as a bulwark against the aggressors. His smile quickly soured at the memory of being beaten in his early days, the thoughts of doubt creeping up on him before being helped by the sensei, who helped mold him into what he would become.

Quickly a knock came from his door, drawing Baso to turn slightly, and pulling him from the memories before getting up, moving towards his weapon quietly, then towards the door with the weapon behind him like a child with a large toy.

As he neared, a small pit grew in his stomach, the usual reaction to having a villager come and retrieve him. His hand rested on the door before it burst open, and a clad warrior, sporting the small blade that most of the Orochi order held. The smaller being looked up at the bigger man, fear in his eyes as he pointed wordlessly towards the village.

Baso only nodded, and closed his eyes, sighing and turning towards his gear. After only a few minutes he walked out, his armor, old and beaten, seemed imposing only to the weaker of heart. With a glance at the Orochi, and a nod of the head, he jogged towards the village.

The Orochi stood there, staring at the receding warrior, a small smile gracing his hidden lips before giving chase...

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The Village of Neti, one of the scattered villages that had been formed just before the Viking Raid from only 4 years prior that had pushed all the way to the capital, had only a hand full of defenders, and Baso's eyes, they were no where near enough.

As Baso rounded the hill that was one of the dozen barriers from the village and most of its traffic, he could see that half the village was being razed, and he could hear the screams of people and the clash of weapons. The sounds only made his jog only more urgent, and memories flood back into his mind.

His eyes darted back and forth as he neared the southern gate, which stood broken and open, showed him the initial carnage. The village leader, a Nobushi who was beloved by the town, speared upon her own weapon and left in the mud. Around her body was atleast a dozen or more slain warriors, and atleast two with large axes.

He stopped, and neared her body slowly, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder before crouching next to her body, and resting his large hand on her shoulder, his head turning down as he gave a silent prayer to the spirits that were watching, before looking up, only to see a half dozen soldiers round the corner, two busy with a large wagon of food while the other four had their weapons ready.

With no sound, Baso stood up, and stepped over his fallen friend, and pointed at each of the six slowly, before slamming his hand against his chest plate. all of the guards lifted their flimsy wooden shields, and the two with the wagon lifted up their swords alone. Baso eyed each one, before charging forward, and when he was in reach, swung his club straight down, smashing one of the warriors down into the mud, breaking bone. One on his right swung, only to be met with the blade of the Orochi, and a kunai into his neck.

Baso lifted the kanabo in a low sing, taking both of the other warriors legs out from under them before lifting a leg in the process and bringing it down like a smiths hammer, crushing ones chest completely in on itself. The last shielded warrior attempted to crawl away before an arrow sprouted suddenly from his helmeted head. The last two warriors, who had just witnessed the sudden mini slaughter, attempted to flee, but as they turned around they were met with a large blade slicing at them, and both of their heads rolled off, their bodies acting like puppets without their strings, and slumping to the ground.

Baso looked to the newcomer, before giving a small sad smile under his dark grey mask, and giving a small nod, before walking past the corpses, and motioning for the Orochi to follow. The Nadachi wielder nodded at them, before looking towards the gate, and sprinting for the fallen village leader, and as Baso and the Orochi left for the main plaza where the fighting seemed to sound more loudly, they could both hear the faint cries from behind them.

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The village plaza, where most of the commerce would be done, was awash with blood. Civilians armed with crude weapons or anything they could scrounge, fought the warriors with everything they had, and in the midst of the throng was a large hulking figure of a raider, his large axe cleaving at the civilians and the troops the town had. The brutes attacks leaving bloody sprays around him as he cheered and taunted those that gave him a wide berth.

Baso, seeing this, moved forward, slamming his club into the raiders forces with timed strikes, knocking them down to be mobbed and killed by the civilians at hand, before entering the circle that had been cleared by smarter heads than some. The raid leader looked towards him, and slammed the pommel of his large axe into the mud, and taunted the Shugoki, speaking the tongue of barbarians for all Baso could care for.

Baso hefted his club o to his shoulder again, and pointed gestured at the raider, and the raider then lunged forward, swinging wildly. Baso, even as he aged, still was fast and deflected most of the hits, taking a small cut on his arms every so often, and as the raider moved back, Baso charged forward, grabbing the raider in a massive hug, lifting him, and cracking the barbarians back, before throwing him to the gorund.

As Baso moved away, pulling his weapon behind him, the raider rolled away slightly, before hurling a small round object at the Shugoki, and as it broke against his armor, he was enveloped in flames. Baso couldn't help but jump in surprise before swinging forwards and down, the clubs flat and heavy end landing on the raiders head, and a loud cracking sound could be heard as metal and bone shattered and squished.

As Baso lifted his club, he dropped it as he attempted to put out the fire, batting at it, which ended up only making the fires grow as they started to burn the paint, and the natural bundles of rope that kept parts of his armor together. His shouts and exclamations were loud, and his vision started to fade as he was engulfed only more so in fire.

The last thing before Baso lost all of his sight was the Orochi that had come to him, giving a small salute, and his eyes shifted from their brown to yellow with red pupils....

Author's Note

This honestly might never be published because... well. I'm unsure about my writing skill after like.. 3 years of doing rp and whatnot.. so yeah. Kinda hesitant but I think this might be fun if I can stick to it.