Duel with the Tengu

Today is a good day to die. [[(Lay your hand on your sword.) I'm ready. Let us begin.|HandOnSword]] [[(PRIDE) I'm not dying today.|PrideOpening]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider your mother.|ConsiderMother]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

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You lay your hand on the grip of your sword. The familiar braided cord, frayed with use. You've drawn your sword a thousand times before. Your sword is an extension of your will. Touching it comforts you, like touching your own arm. A sheathed sword contains infinite possibilities. It's only when you draw your sword that you commit to a single strike. To draw a sword is to divide certainty from possibility. Close your eyes. Breathe. Imagine the next few moments in your mind's eye. [[What do I see?|Options]]

(set: $ConsiderTengu to "visited") Hirayama Seigen. The Tengu. The King of Black Mountain. He's been killing samurai since before you were born. You were a child when he defeated your mother's samurai on the field. He could have killed her with his own hands. The iron mask is faded with use. The green eyes are old and tired. There's a hardness in them--a hardness he wasn't born with. They call him a madman and a butcher. They say he wants to see the Shogunate burn, turn over the Chrysanthemum Throne, and bring an end to the samurai. You've imagined the same things in the past. If you weren't his enemy... [[I might have seen things his way.|YesSympathize]] [[...no. No sympathy for murderers.|NoSympathize]]

(set: $ConsiderMother to "visited") "Still want to be a samurai?" She'd asked you that question time and time again. The only thing she ever wanted was for you to be your own woman. But no, you wanted to be just like her. Foolish girl. Well, now you have your chance. Kiyohara no Natsume sits on a straw mat in clean white silks with her hair raised up and a knife on the ground beside her. The Tengu expects her to take her own life if you lose. [[(PRIDE) I've surpassed you, mother.|MotherA]] [[(LOVE) I promised you I'd protect you.|MotherB]]

(set: $ConsiderSelf to "visited") Kiyohara no Saya. You repeat your name to yourself in your mind, listening to the sound, the rhythm, the shape of the syllables, the way they rise and fall. What does your name mean to you? Repeat your name often enough and it loses meaning. It becomes just sound. Understanding yourself has been the journey of your life, and your life is far from over. There's a poem written on the wall of your bedroom. Watching the moon at dawn, solitary, mid-sky, I know myself completely, no part left out. Well, Saya? Who are you? [[(SAMURAI) I am a Kiyohara. And a Kiyohara always does her duty.|SelfSamurai]] [[(AESTHETIC) Just a woman with a sword. |SelfWoman]] [[(PRIDE) I am...going to kill the Tengu.|SelfSnark]]

You could never be a loyal samurai of the Shogunate. Not you. You can't tolerate blind obedience. If the Chrysanthemum Throne asked you to bow, you'd say no. You've seen the decadence of the court. You've seen the way the samurai hold themselves above the common people--the people you called friends. The world would be better off without a class of armed warriors serving the whims of an Imperial throne. But the world would also be better off without Hirayama Seigen, the Tengu. You feel a touch of regret, but not a hint of hesitation. [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider your mother.|ConsiderMother]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

Very well. [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider your mother.|ConsiderMother]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

Natsume sits on the straw mat with her hands in her lap, watching you in silence. Her eyes are gentle. She wishes you hadn't come, and yet, she's glad you're here. You were never supposed to be the one to protect her. But there's no one else she'd rather rely on right now. "I couldn't beat him," her eyes say, "but you can." [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

Natsume sits on the straw mat with her hands in her lap, watching you in silence. Her eyes are gentle. She wishes you hadn't come, and yet, she's glad you're here. You were never supposed to be the one to protect her. But there's no one else she'd rather rely on right now. "I believe in you," her eyes say. [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

A samurai always does her duty. A sword is an expression of a samurai's duty. You have no duty to the throne. You have no duty to a code. Your duty is to your heart. Your heart tells you that Hirayama Seigen must die. No one else should suffer by his hand. Let him face the judgement of the kami. [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider your mother..|ConsiderMother]]

You're just a woman with a sword. The red and white silk of your robes catch the breeze. The sword in your hand is an unremarkable length of steel with a sharp edge and no guard. It's not especially beautiful and has no name. No one will remember what you've done here. Before your duel, the wind blows and the clouds move. After your duel, the wind blows and the cloud moves. You've done this a thousand times before. [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider your mother..|ConsiderMother]]

Good girl. So what are you waiting for? [[Lay your hand on your sword. Enough contemplation.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider your mother..|ConsiderMother]]

(set: $FailCount to 0) Swordsmanship is a contest of will. The two of you regard one another in absolute silence, your hands resting on the grip of your swords, like a pair of players contemplating a shogi board. You close your eyes just as he closes his eyes. The battle unfolds in your mind, like a memory played in reverse. [[(AGGRESSIVE) Don't hesitate. Step into his space, draw, slash across his chest.|OptionAggressive]] [[(TECHNICAL) Feint to his left, then cut to his right. Slash from hip to shoulder.|OptionTechnical]] [[(DEFENSIVE) Let him strike first. He'll draw from the hip. Parry and counter.|OptionDefensive]]

(set: $AggressiveAttack to "fail") (set: $FailCount to it + 1) The next few moments unfold in your mind's eye. You push off your back heel and rush. In three steps you're on him, silks flowing behind you. His hand tightens on the grip of his sword. Your blade sings out of its scabbard, flashing in the sun. You draw and cut-- --he draws and parries. Your blades collide hard, ringing like a temple bell. You're fast. He's faster. The sheer weight of his sword rattles yours. You stagger half an ilm. That's all. Just half an ilm. In that infinitesimal moment of imbalance, his sword switches direction and slashes. You see it coming toward you, reversing course like a swallow changing its path. An autumn leaf falls. His blade cuts it in two, passing dangerously close to your cheek. [[Dodge to one side.|DodgeA]] [[Pivot on your heel to parry.|ParryA]]

(set: $TechnicalAttack to "fail") (set: $FailCount to it + 1) The next few moments unfold in your mind's eye. The breeze changes direction and so do you. You dart off your back foot, to the left, swaying like a reed in the wind. He draws first, slashing-- --but you're not there. A feint. You dip to the right and draw. Your blade flashes out of the scabbard, cutting. The world slow. The tip of your sword cutting into his armor. The first spark leaping from the edge. His sword-- --his sword is so fast. His blade changes direction immediately. Before you finish your stroke, it's already diving toward your neck. [[(COURAGE) Don't hesitate. You're faster than he is.|PressAttackB]] [[(STRATEGY) Feint again. Let the blade score your cheek and slash at his throat.|FeintB]]

(set: $DefensiveAttack to "fail") (set: $FailCount to it + 1) The next few moments unfold in your mind's eye. The breeze stops. The air grows still, and so do you. You take a long, slow breath, your hand on your scabbard. Before you exhale, he moves. One great step and he's already on you, his shadow engulfing you like the mouth of a dragon. His blade tears out of its scabbard with a roar of steel. You draw. You parry. Your blades collide with the sound of a clanging bell. The sheer force of his blow staggers you. You catch your footing. You lunge in for a thrust--but his blade comes around for a second strike, changing direction mid-air like a swallow changing its path. It's so fast. He's so fast. [[Let your sword go and duck.|SideStepC]] [[You're faster. Meet the attack and thrust at his throat.|PressAttackC]]

You twist to one side, whipping away like a dancer. Your white hair sprays behind you as you move, like the wing of a heron. His blade clips the wing. The sword slashes through your hair, passing so close to your lips that your breath fogs its edge. You see it in his swordwork, in the way he holds his blade. It was a feint. Before you right yourself, his blade strikes a third time. In your mind's eye, you drop to your knees. Blood sprays from your throat. [[That's not good.|DeathA]]

You pivot on your heel to stop his blade. Your swords clash. You expected his blade to ride the edge of yours, shoving yours back. But then you see it--the power in his shoulders, the way he's swinging, as if he's trying to drive an axe through a tree. He wanted you to parry. Your blade, slender and flexible, bends under the sheer weight of his tachi. He drags your blade with his, burying the edge into your body. You stagger. He swings. Your head rolls on the grass. [[Damn it.|DeathA]]

You step into his attack, thrusting. You are faster than he is, but he holds his ground. Your two swords pass by one another, reflecting your eyes. Blood sprays across both swords. Your blade buries into his shoulder. His carves into your chest. His reach was longer than yours. [[Damn. |DeathB]]

You turn to one side, just enough to let the razor edge of his blade cut into your cheek. It opens your face at the jaw. You tolerate the pain, the blood streaming down the ruin of your mouth, sacrificing your face to drive your sword into his mask. He turns his head at the last moment. Your sword tears through his mask, trapped between the iron beak and his cheek. You struggle to pull the sword free. An iron-gloved fist crushes your face. Teeth splinter. The next blow-- [[Thanks. I get it.|DeathB]]

The two of you swing together, whirling together. Your blades sweep out in opposite directions, swingng toward each other's heads. You're faster. His reach is longer. Your blade comes singing for his throat, tears open black feathers from his cloak, scores the iron line of his mask, then drops, clattering to the ground. Your blood soaks the grass. You die with the edge of his sword buried in your head. The last thing you see-- [[Enough. I get it.|DeathC]]

You drop your sword. You've practiced your maneuver. The sword bounces on the ground. His blade passes overhead. You grab your sword, snatching it out of the air, driving in to slam the blade into his chest. You never quite make it. He whirls in his step. His great black cloak sprays out around him like a massive crown opening its wings, blinding you. In the flutter of black silk and feathers, his sword is like a talon. It tears you open. [[Damn it.|DeathC]]

You've seen that move before. The way he moves his sword, drawing and cutting, changing directions and cutting again. Tsubame Gaeshi. The Turning Swallow strike, impossibly fast. He isn't one man with a sword. He's two. Each strike is two strikes. In the space of one breath, his blade cuts twice. In your mind's eye, you pick yourself up from the ground. Your body stitches itself together. Your blood unspills. Your breathe returns to your lips. Try again. (unless: $AggressiveAttack is "fail")[[Enough finesse. Let's be aggressive.|OptionAggressive]] (unless: $TechnicalAttack is "fail")[[Subtlety. I can trick him with a feint.|OptionTechnical]] (unless: $DefensiveAttack is "fail")[[I'm being impatient. I'll wait and parry his strike.|OptionDefensive]] (if: $FailCount > 1)[[No. I'm being too predictable. Let's try something else.|AnotherWay]]

Hirayama Seigen is a samurai almost without peer. He's been fighting since before you've been alive. You've seen how fast his sword is. You felt it on the cliff over the ocean. Tsubame Gaeshi. Fast as a swallow changing directions mid-flight, impossible to track with your eyes. Challenge his sword with traditional maneuvers, and you'll lose. (unless: $AggressiveAttack is "fail")[[Enough finesse. Let's be aggressive.|OptionAggressive]] (unless: $TechnicalAttack is "fail")[[Subtlety. I can trick him with a feint.|OptionTechnical]] (unless: $DefensiveAttack is "fail")[[I'm being impatient. I'll wait and parry his strike.|OptionDefensive]] (if: $FailCount > 1)[[No. I'm being too predictable. Let's try something else.|AnotherWay]]

Where have you seen that move before? Tsubame. The word appears in your mind. The swallow. A bird so fast it changes direction in mid-air instantaneously. His sword is impossibly quick, always alive, always a threat. Committing to a single strike never leaves him open. In the space of a single breath, he can cut twice. (unless: $AggressiveAttack is "fail")[[Enough finesse. Let's be aggressive.|OptionAggressive]] (unless: $TechnicalAttack is "fail")[[Subtlety. I can trick him with a feint.|OptionTechnical]] (unless: $DefensiveAttack is "fail")[[I'm being impatient. I'll wait and parry his strike.|OptionDefensive]] (if: $FailCount > 1)[[No. I'm being too predictable. Let's try something else.|AnotherWay]]

There is another way. Your way. Let go of traditional swordsmanship. The sword itself is a method of expression. The Tengu has killed a thousand samurai. All of them fought exactly like you. If you fight like every other samurai, you'll die like every other samurai. So fight like yourself. Let go of technique. Start with what you have in your hand. [[Consider your sword.|ConsiderOwnSword]] [[Consider your mother's sword.|ConsiderMotherSword]]

Your sword is more than a sword. Your sword is a paintbrush. When you fight, you express what is in your heart. Every duel is a way of presenting yourself to the world. If you want to express what is in your heart, first, know yourself. Look deep within. Find the answer. [[(Take a long, slow breath...)|StartSen]] [[Wait. My mother's sword.|ConsiderMotherSword]]

There'sa nother sword at your waist. The tsuba is shaped like a chrysanthemum. The scabbard is lined with mother-of-pearl. The grip is wrapped with white silk. Your mother's sword. You run your fingers along the grip. The Tengu wields one sword as if it were two, striking twice in the same breath. If you fight with two swords, you might surprise him. You might surprise yourself. There's nothing more for you in your mind's eye, if you draw your mother's sword. You've never fought with two swords before. You have no way to imagine the outcome. Will you risk your life on a gamble? [[I make my own luck. I'll use my mother's sword.|StartHissatsu]] [[No. I have to trust in my own sword, in my own abilities.|ConsiderOwnSword]]

(set: $SenNumber to 0) A long, slow breath. The breath falls into you. You fall into yourself. The world fades away like ink into water. You are alone with yourself, listening to the sound of your heart, to the silence between each beat. You forget technique. You forget form. There's just you, and the darkness. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? [[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] [[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] [[Flowers.|FlowerPath]]

You open your eyes. The Tengu opens his eyes. His hand lies on the grip of his sword. Your right hand lies on the grip of your sword. Your left hand brushes along the length of your mother's scabbard. You can't rehearse this strike. There's nothing in your mind's eye to imagine. You're staking your life on an improvisation. Who can you rely on? [[(INSTINCT) Me. Act without thinking. Throw yourself at him and draw.|InstinctA]] [[(COURAGE) I'm always here for you. You're going to get hurt, but you must let it happen.|CourageA]] [[(SPEED) He's fast. I'm much faster.|SpeedA]]

(set: $SenNumber to it + 1) (set: $SnowPath to 1) The snow falls without a sound, white in the moonlight, settling on the ground, on the limbs of trees. You always loved the winter more than any other season. The winter always held the promise of spring. The first snow lands on your cheek. It's a winter's night in Koshu. The world glitters in the moonlight. The words crystallize in your heart. Five syllables. [["The snow falls softly..."|Line1A]] [["Snow covers the path..."|Line1B]] [["The first kiss of snow...|Line1C]]

(set: $SenNumber to it + 1) (set: $MoonPath to 1) When you can't sleep, you wander outside, in the silence, just listening to the night. You always felt more comfortable under the light of the moon. You could always find your way in the dark by moonlight. The first snow lands on your cheek. It's a winter's night in Koshu. The world glitters in the moonlight. The words take shape in your heart. Seven syllables. [["...soundless under the moonlight..."|Line2A]] [["...beneath a pale winter moon..."|Line2B]] [["on a lonely moonlit road..."|Line2C]]

(set: $SenNumber to it + 1) (set: $FlowerPath to 1) There are always flowers in the winter, if you know where to look. Winter holds the promise of spring. Every dead branch is biding its time. Every flower is waiting to show itself. The first snow lands on your cheek. It's a winter's night in Koshu. The world glitters in the moonlight. The words blossoms in your heart. Five syllables. [["...promising flowers."|Line3A]] [["...like falling blossoms."|Line3B]] [["..petals underfoot."|Line3C]]

"The snow falls softly." (set:$Line1 to "The snow falls softly,") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Setsu. Snow. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"Snow covers the path." (set:$Line1 to "Snow covers the path,") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Setsu. Snow. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"The first kiss of snow." (set:$Line1 to "The first kiss of snow,") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Setsu. Snow. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...soundless under moonlight.." (set:$Line2 to "soundless under moonlight,") You compose seven syllables. The seven syllables become one word. Getsu. Moon. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...beneath a pale winter moon.." (set:$Line2 to "beneath a pale winter moon,") You compose seven syllables. The seven syllables become one word. Getsu. Moon. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...on a lonely moonlit road..." (set:$Line2 to "on a lonely moonlit road,") You compose seven syllables. The seven syllables become one word. Getsu. Moon. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...promising flowers." (set:$Line3 to "promising flowers.") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Ka. Flower. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...like falling blossoms." (set:$Line3 to "like falling blossoms.") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Ka. Flower. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

"...petals underfoot" (set:$Line3 to "petals underfoot.") You compose five syllables. The five syllables become one word. Ka. Flower. You carry it in your heart. The world spreads out before you, spilling out from where you stand, like ink spreading across parchment. The world is what you carry in your heart. What do you see? (unless: $SnowPath is 1)[[Snow, softly falling.|SnowPath]] (unless: $MoonPath is 1)[[The moon in the sky.|MoonPath]] (unless: $FlowerPath is 1)[[Flowers.|FlowerPath]] (if: $SenNumber is 3)[[I have my poem.|ThreeSen]]

$Line1 $Line2 $Line3 The syllables flow together like music. You listen to the sound of each word, the rhythm. In your mind's eye, the poem becomes movement. The movement becomes an expression. The expression becomes an attack. Snow. Moon. Flower. Setsu. Getsu. Ka. Setsugekka. [[(MIDARE SETSUGEKKA) Open your eyes and strike.|UseMidare]]

(set: $typewriterText to "You open your eyes. The Tengu opens his eyes. He moves first. In one step, he covers the distance separating you. His sword comes roaring out of his scabbard. You take a breath. The leaves tremble on the trees. The grass bends in the wind. Your sword flashes out of its scabbard, slashing in a long crescent. Your blade tears through armor, leather, silk. Flesh. Blood falls like snow, spattering into red flowers on the ground. The Tengu stands still, frozen with the edge of his tachi against your cheek. Your breath fogs on the mirror sheen of its surface. His blade clatters to the ground. He drops to his knees.") (display: "Typewriter") [[...|TsubameGaeshi]]

(set: $typewriterText to "Nothing moves. The world is frozen in stillness. From behind his iron mask, the Tengu gazes at you, eyes wide in shock. He opens his mouth to speak. Blood drips from a corner. A gloved hand touches the long slash across his chest. For a moment, he looks like he might laugh. Then he does. His armor clatters on the ground when he falls. Blood pools into the grass.") (display: "Typewriter") [[...|Win]]

(set: $typewriterText to "A sword, once drawn, should never return to its scabbard without fulfilling its purpose. You run the flat of your blade across the sleeve of your yukata. With ceremonial deliberation, you clean your blade and return it to its scabbard. Resting your hands together before your waist, you bow, deeply, before the body of the Tengu. 'Goodbye, Hirayama Seigen.'") (display: "Typewriter")

The wind changes. The Tengu moves. In one step he's covered the distance. His shadow looms over you, engulfs you. His sword comes roaring out of his scabbard. Your right hand grips your blade. You draw and strike. His blade comes screaming toward your waist. It's going to hit you. There's no way out. [[(SAMURAI) Even if a samurai's head is severed from her neck, she should have enough strength to deliver one last strike.||SamuraiA]] [[(DESPAIR) ... Fuck.|Despair]]

The wind changes. The Tengu moves. In one step he's covered the distance. His shadow looms over you, engulfs you. His sword comes roaring out of his scabbard. You see its trajectory. It's going to hit you. There's no way to guard. There's no way to avoid it. The only thing you can do is strike him at the same time. Blow for blow. Strike for strike. A life for a life. [[(SAMURAI) Fair trade.||SamuraiA]] [[(DESPAIR) ... Fuck.|Despair]]

The wind changes. The Tengu moves. In one step he's covered the distance. His shadow looms over you, engulfs you. His sword comes roaring out of his scabbard. He's fast. You're faster. You rush into him as he rushes into you, a sparrow flying into the talons of a massive condor, black wings unfurling. His cloak unfurls around his shoulders. The blade flashes, whipping through the air, its edge slicing for your shoulder. Your blade springs out of your hand. You drive it in deep, thrusting into his chest. But the sword's coming. There's no way to stop it. Your blade's stuck fast. [[(SAMURAI) A life for a life. I'm ready to die.|SamuraiA]] [[(DESPAIR) Fuck.|Despair]]

Lay your life down at the feet of your enemy. Throw yourself recklessly into the mouth of death. You rush into his attack. His blade slashes into you. You don't try to defend yourself. Your blade slashes into him. The tip slips underneath a gap in his armor. Leather, silk, flesh, bone. The resistance of an armored body against your blade. His sword hits your side. Steel bites into your ribs. Blood fills your mouth. You push--hard. The sword bursts through his back. He glares at you from under his iron mask. And with your left hand... [[Draw your mother's sword. |DrawMotherSword]] [[Swing your mother's scabbard at his arm.|DrawScabbard]] [[(PRIDE) Hang on. Am I dying? |PrideInterject]]

Really? You're going to despair? At a time like this? [[(MONO NO AWARE) Only for a moment. That moment has passed.|MonoNoAware]] [[(PRIDE) I was just enjoying a little drama. I'm still going to win.|NoDespair]] [[(DESPAIR) Yes. This is how I die.||YouDie]]

You grit your teeth. Your mouth tastes of copper. His blade is stuck fast in your body. Yours is stuck fast in his. Your left hand wraps around the grip of your mother's sword. Heavy, powerful, built for chopping. You tear her blade out of its scabbard. Behind his mask, the Tengu's eyes widen. He tries to let go of his sword, tries to pull away, but you have him pinned. Swords aren't instruments. Swords aren't expressions of art. A sword is a tool for killing. The purpose of every technique is// hissatsu//--a deathblow. [[(HISSATSU SENEI) Put the sword to work.|CutA]]

You draw the scabbard and smash it against his elbow. It breaks. [[Cut again.|CutB]]

That depends entirely on what your left hand is going to do in the next two seconds. [[Draw your mother's sword.|DrawMotherSword]] [[Swing your mother's scabbard at his arm.|DrawScabbard]]

Saya, please. This is not the time to get wistful about the transience of life. Draw your mother's sword. [[Fine. |DrawMotherSword]] [[(CONTRARIAN) I'd rather use the scabbard.|DrawScabbard]]

No it isn't. What's gotten into you? Draw your other sword. [[Fine. |DrawMotherSword]] [[(CONTRARIAN) I'd rather use the scabbard.|DrawScabbard]]

Then you'd better draw your mother's sword. [[Fine. |DrawMotherSword]] [[(CONTRARIAN) I'd rather use the scabbard.|DrawScabbard]]

He doesn't see the second sword until it's too late. Your right hand, pinning your own blade into his side. Your left, drawing your mother's sword. One swing. One good, clean cut. The blade cuts through his shoulder and stops at his chest. Blood soaks your robes. The Tengu drops to his knees. His hands wrap around the edge of your blade. His fingers quiver. Behind his iron mask, his eyes are wide with shock. [[Tear the sword free.|FinishA]] [[Let the sword go.|FinishB]]

He doesn't see the second sword until it's too late. You slip your mother's sword out of your belt. The mother-of-pearl casing is heavy as a club. You twist and swing. The scabbard crushes into his elbow. Bones splinter. The Tengu drops to the ground. His blade drops into the grass. Your sword is still lodged in his side. [[Make it quick.|FinishA]]

(set: $typewriterText to "You tear the sword out of him. Blood spatters against your cheek. He remains on his knees. Nothing moves. The world is frozen in stillness. From behind his iron mask, the Tengu gazes at you, eyes wide in shock. He opens his mouth to speak. Blood drips from a corner. A gloved hand touches the long slash across his chest. For a moment, he looks like he might laugh. Then he does. His armor clatters on the ground when he falls. Blood pools into the grass.") (display: "Typewriter") [[...|Ending2]]

(set: $typewriterText to "You leave the sword buried in him. Blood runs down his armor. Down his mouth. His breath comes in a ragged groan. He remains on his knees. Nothing moves. The world is frozen in stillness. From behind his iron mask, the Tengu gazes at you, eyes wide in shock. He opens his mouth to speak. Blood drips from a corner. A gloved hand touches the grip of the blade still buried in him. For a moment, he looks like he might laugh. Then he does. His armor clatters on the ground when he falls. Blood pools into the grass.") (display: "Typewriter") [[...|Ending2]]

(set: $typewriterText to "You fall to your knees. The wound at your side is terrible. The blood won't stop flowing. Your hand covers your waist. You hear a voice call your name. The voice seems to come from far away. The Tengu lies on the grass in front of you. A maple leaf falls on his back. Then another. Silk shuffling. Footsteps. Arms around your shoulders. Your mother holds you close. You feel her hand press against the wound at your side. You hear words in your horn, but don't know what they are. It's morning, but night is falling around your eyes. You fall with it, into somewhere dark, somewhere deep inside yourself. The voice of your mother fades into the distance. Then, so does everything else.") (display: "Typewriter")

You never liked that phrase: today is a good day to die. Why do samurai always say that? Today is a good day for a lot of things. A hot cup of tea and a bath when this is all over. The fatigue in your body fades. You take a long, slow breath of the cold mountain air. You center yourself, with pride as your compass. [[(Lay your hand on your sword.) I'm ready.|HandOnSword]] [[Consider the Tengu.|ConsiderTengu]] [[Consider your mother.|ConsiderMother]] [[Consider yourself.|ConsiderSelf]]

(set: $typewriterText to "The light of the morning sun falls through maple leaves. The Tengu's shadow falls over you, engulfing you. His hand lies on the grip of his sword, the thumb pushed against the tsuba, shaped like a demon's face. His face is hidden behind an iron mask in the shape of a crow's beak, surrounded by a red mane and a mantle of black feathers. Water fills a bamboo deerscare. Leaves rustle at your feet. Today is a good day to die.") (display: "Typewriter") [[...|Intro]]