LoNE WolF 4 LyFe 2003

Old Winds

             

             It was raining. Dark rain clouds hung over the land. The heavy rain pelted the planes, causing the earth to conform to mud, deep mud. The day was nearing its end, as the land was turning from a foggy blue to a dark haze of rain and night. As of all the lands of the south, it was annoyingly warm and green, full of tress, huge forests, and mountains from horizon to horizon. There were clear shallow rivers and great wide lakes filled with of fish.

             But the traveler could not appreciate any of it. It held no appeal as he was suffering through hunger and starvation. Two weeks ago, his food supply was diminished. He was unfamiliar with the animals of this land nor did he have the strength to track and hunt for his food. And sleep gave no sympathy or comfort from his gut. Nevertheless, he merely pushed on, continuing on his travel.

             On his journey back to his homeland, never did he think to ever walk again the trail he used to escape certain death. He remembered well the trail, he never forgot his long walk to the northlands. Those cold, hungry, and lonely nights he endured for countless days. Always was his baby sister crying, he had given her any little piece of food he could find. All those memories were as claws and tore deep into his heart.

            The feelings were powerful and memory so vivid that they threatened to open his old wounds. But Drean focussed and forced them away from all consciousness. What used to be effortless was now becoming harder and harder as they came more often and unyielding. When the old feelings were finally gone, it left Drean with a lingering poison in his heart, draining his spirit.

                 He had reached a great forest with trees tall and lushes. The leaves and branches hid the ground beneath them from the hard rain. The deeper Drean walked into the forest, the darker it was becoming. Night was slowly approaching, the forest had created its own twilight. Afraid to be attacked by a prowling wolf, Drean stopped to break a thick branch from the closest tree and made a fire at the one end to make a torch. The warmth of the burning torch was soothing for the weary traveler.

                 Fast feet darted through the heavy mud. Out came the fine steel of Drean's long sword. Again he heard the darting feet. Then came whispers from the darkness that surrounded the weary traveler. From the shadows, came forth a mighty warrior much larger than Drean himself. He wore such beautiful armor the traveler had never seen before, even with rust and cracked. A helmet with great horns, and visor that only let the adversary know the color of his eyes, his unnatural pure white eyes. In his huge hands was a giant maul hammer. Then, a frightening sight the weary traveler saw, the mighty warrior's eyes flashed a white flash of light. He came across a dark spirit who still possessed his mortal body.

               "Warrior of the northlands, plunge thy torch into the tree," the dark warrior said in a voice so deep and coarse. He saw Dreans hesitation and knew it was because of mistrust. "How can a swordsman fight with all his prowess with only one hand on the hilt?"

              The traveler then dropped his guard and stabbed the torch into a tree. As he turned back, his adversary was upon him, felt a huge fist drive into his gut. The hit carried him off his feet and fell him several feet from where he once stood. He fell hard on the wet ground, mud clinging to his garments. Before he could even climb to his knees, the dark warrior was standing over him. His huge hand took a tight grasp on Drean's wolf pelt and picked him up and started swinging him, throwing hard. Drean flew fast into solid tree, back first. His cry of pain echoed in the forest and fell into the cold filthy mud. And there he laid on the ground, wallowing in pain, waiting for it to pass before climbing to his feet, coughing and spiting out mud. He couldn't stand, the pain was too much, the mud made him feel like hundreds of pounds, and he could not defeat such an adversary.

              There was a grim look on the dark warrior's facade. "I was mistaken," he said with great reluctance. "Surely, a hardened stoic man of such a stature would be skilled in the arts of combat. But I see now, you...are no warrior."

                The last few words drew anger within Drean. The anger gave him strength as he could lift himself from the ground. Finally standing tall on his feet, he wiped off the mud that off his face and out of his eyes, only smearing it. Drean walked up to his adversary, standing just a hair out of range of the giant maul hammer. His lips thinned, staring hard at the huge dark warrior, looking deep into those pure white orbs. He gripped the hilt of his sword and begun twisting and twirling it, side to side, sliding on his open palm.

                The young traveler continued to stand and taunt the demon warrior with simple swordplay. His patience was running thin as anger was beginning to boil. A second passed, the dark warrior let out a warcry and took a tight grip in two hands of his giant maul hammer. With one long step forward, he swung hard with his hammer.

                  Drean smirked as the demon warrior played right into his hands. With two quick steps, he jumped well over his enemy's strike and left himself wide open for a dangerous counter and Drean would not disappoint. His sword hand stretched back behind him and thurst his sword with devastating force into a small crack in the demon warrior's armor. The steel of the blade ripped wide the small crack. Thick red blood leaked out from the wound.

                 The dark warrior yelled in pain. He threw his fist at the young traveler, but Drean saw it coming and merely twisted his sword. The pain was too much, it forced him to stop the strike mid-way. And there Drean had the demon warrior at his mercy, but he was mocking him. He had stopped cringing in pain and gave an evil grin. Again the hand begun reaching for Drean, so he twisted his sword more, but it didn't seem to stop the dark warrior's advancements. So he was twisted his sword desperately trying to cause his enemy more pain. Even when he tried to force the sword deeper, it didn't stop his enemy.

               The dark warrior took a tight grip on the hilt of Drean's sword and pulled it out fast. The young traveler was stunned at what he just saw. That moment, he was smacked so hard, he was thrown off his feet and fell flat on his back. As he tried to sit up and get to his feet, his enemy stomped back down and pinned him on the ground with his giant steel boot. At first he struggled to break free, but it was futile. The demon warrior stared down coldly at Drean. All things around the two warriors seemed to have stood still.

                "No...warrior," said the dark warrior and swung his huge fist.

                  The fist caught Drean on the left temple and blackness closed up all around him. Slowly the darkness closed in and the words of his enemy echoed hauntingly, then, all consciousness was gone.

                   Hours had gone by. The raining stopped and the sky was clear. There were sounds of hooves running through the forest. There was clanking of metal. Atop the galloping horse was a glorious warrior in a suit of battle armor made of pure silver. The warrior's name was Lonisis Akanle, a knight with no allegiance to any king or army. He traveled the across the Provinces of the Alliance. To the lands of tyranny and terrorized by the wicked, he traveled to protect the weak and uphold the code he swore to when he was just a boy who had nothing. He once belonged to a great brotherhood of knights, but like all good things, his lord of the brotherhood was assassinated by his worst enemies. Thus, the brotherhood fall apart and poor Lonisis, forever loyal to the code and his lost fellow knights, he stayed true to the old ways. All this time, his youth gone with the wind and everything he did was to make proud his fallen lord.

                    As he rode through the forest, he saw something. So he pulled on the reins and his horse came to a halt. He looked hard with his kind crystal eyes, trying to spot again the thing he saw. He saw a fine steel sword laying on the ground. He lifted his visor. He backtracked several steps back and there it was, a man wearing thick furs of wild animals, had to be a northlander. He was left for die, vulnerable to the predators of the forest. The warrior dismounted and crouched low to look closer at the northlander. Off came his helmet, his bright blond wavy hair feathered in the wind. But it struck him as strange for a northlander to carry such a weapon of great craftsmanship. And when he saw the northlander's face, it was interesting. The northlanders rarely came out to the southlands, and they all had dark skin, but this man's skin was...fair. The more the noble warrior gazed upon the northlander, he felt like he knew the man and he wondered how.

              "Who are you, northlander?" The noble warrior asked with great wonder and curiosity. He then looked over at the sword laying on the side in the dirt. His eyes were drawn to the hilt, the white hilt.

              Then it donned on him, his eyes went wide. He shook the northlander to wake. "Master Drean Florius! Your alive!" He was over-happy to watch his master finally come awake.

              Drean's sight was blurred, only blue and silver he could see. He rubbed his eyes, and he saw those wide crystal eyes staring at him. He sat up and looked closer at the man before him. Oddly, memories of a young knight of his father's band of knights coursed through his mind. That young knight was his mentor, appointed to him by his father. In his younger days as a swordsman, Drean was always hotheaded and overly aggressive, but the young knight kept his focus and always came out on top in their sparring sessions. And one memory of Drean making one fatal mistake and the young knight took advantage of it, knocking him clear of his feet, he fell and his head hit a rock. He awoke some several minutes later and the young knight was by his side with a smile on his face, relieved to see Drean wasn't seriously hurt. The old knight wore silver armor like the young knight (Drean's father gave only one of his knights silver armor) with a F engraved on the shoulder plates and he knew, the realization took his breath away.

               "Lonisis Akanle?" Drean asked, so stunned to have found his old mentor and teacher.

             

                 The old knight held a warm smile. "Yes, Master Drean, it is me," said Lonisis.

 

Hwoarang

 

             The air was thin and the winds chilling. For high in the mountains in the West lands, these mountains were titans. So tall, they were believed to surpass the high clouds tenfold. The West lands were nothing mountains and valleys of rivers. Only the mountains were abundant in rich farm lands and plateaus so great, they were confused to be green fields. Thus, the below the mountains were barren wastelands, dry cracked earth where nothing can live. So the Westlanders had no chance but to live in the mountains. At first, the thin air was not kind to the Westlanders. One-third of their people died due to the thin air. But those that lived, found the mountains quite hospitable and comfortable. They learned to call it home.

              In the early times, land was scarce. As the people grew in number, that same number of people starved and didn't live long. Those that strived through hunger and starvation rallied others and knew they must act or die. They formed a clan. They crafted weapons and looked to take the lands by force. And so the clans battled for territory. The peaceful villagers of the older clans were killed by the hundreds in the wake of the younger clans. Those younger clans became so numerous they formed an army of nomads. For hundreds of years the older clans were terrorized by the nomad armies. In those years, the nomads enslaved the older clans. The nomads, became an empire and in that empire, the descendants of the older clans were slaves and peasants, servants to the newly found empire.

               Through the following decades, the slaves and peasants endured capital punishment and tormented by their empire. They were whipped, stoned, and beheaded whenever they displeased their masters. Always, the empire took all the food and left little to none for the peasants. Only the descendants of the younger clans or the nobles as they were called, were treated with great respect and were made very wealthy. Thus, the peasants and slaves decided to fight back, but they didn't have the resources to craft their own weapons. The law had forbid the peasants to possess weapons of any kind. So they used their farming tools or as the nobles called them, peasant weapons.

                 Forced to fight with their bare hands, they thought themselves to fight in unarmed combat. They trained in secrecy. Those that mastered a way of combat, a fighting style, taught others that were in dire need to defend their home and families from the tyranny of their empire. From that point on, when a law official wanted to try his power, he was nearly beaten to death. For the peasants, it was very satisflying to finally retaliate from years of severe oppression. As a result, the empire declared martial law and the peasants and slaves were met with extreme measures to stop the rebellion, to stomp out this one little gleam of hope. No more would law officials roam the streets, but they were replaced by scores of soldiers armored to the teeth and were ordered to use deadly force. And also, they first order was, kill any who fought in any unarmed style of fighting.

                 The first masters who created the fighting styles and brought forth the rebellion saw this. They knew they would be hunted and killed. And so, they traveled higher in the mountains in hopes to live in seclusion as they mastered their technique. They took with them each five youths from the villages where they would be taught the new evolved forms of the original fighting styles. They left behind their families and homes in order to save them when they were ready. When they found habitable lands on the mountain, they farmed to feed themselves and built shelters. There they trained morning and night. The training was vigorous and hard. First the masters developed physical aspect of their students. Months gone by, and the students were hardened and brewing with inner strength. Second the masters looked to discipline their minds. In the following months, the students were told to hold a stance for long periods of time, through extreme cold, and through extreme heat. In time, their minds were solid and sharp as the masters envisioned. Thirdly, they were finally ready to be taught unarmed combat. In the mornings they were shown dances they called patterns, series of stances, movements, and strikes. At night, the students were matched up together to fight in one on one combat. In time, the masters saw their fighting style evolve, it became an art and a way of life. It was their answer to martial law, so they saw it appropriate to call their new fighting style, martial arts. And the students that left their lands as children, now return as men. Only the first masters remained in the high mountains as their students traveled back home.

                   When they returned, it was worse than ever. The empire had full control once again as they wiped out all the rebels. What was left, was peasants with broken spirits and wished not to provoke the empire to bring more bloodshed. Scores of soldiers partolled the streets. Anyone who spoke or even glanced at the soldiers, they were killed in public. And in the time they were gone, the empire's weaponry was perfected. All soldiers of the empire carried an indestructible blade of steel called the katana. Those weapons had crushed the rebellion.

                As the laws and weapons changed in the nations of the empire, so would the way the masters of the martial arts will battle tyranny and injustice. They took on the element of surprise, using the night to hide themselves from sight, and perfected stealth, silence, and swiftness. They watched the animals, the monkey, the mantis, the tiger, and the snake. They saw how the monkey could swing from branch to branchwith such ease, climbing great heights. The monkey was symbol of perfect gracefulness and swiftness. They saw how the tiger was a balance of strength and stealth, jumping cliff to cliff, moving behind its oblivious prey and it struck, its prey dead in an instant. The snake and the mantis were a deadly predator. With patience, their prey would make one wrong move, they strike once and its all over. The masters mimicked those animals to the last detail and they called the new fighting style, Ninjutsu. Their unique fighting style earned them the name, ninja.

               They dressed in black and covered their faces. They weilded a sword like the katana but shorter called a wakizashi. They struck only at night. They didn't see the soldiers as a threat only obstacles. They targeted the government officials and military leaders. They sought out their targets during the night. When morning came, their target was found in a pool of his own blood. At first, the empire believed the assassinations were just rogue peasants, sons of a killed rebel out for revenge. They didn't do anything at first, they didn't want the villagers seeing their empire's weakness. Also they didn't want the villagers learning about the assassinations. They knew the villagers would find hope once again if they learned about. But as the assassinations continued, important military leaders and council members were dying every week. The government was becoming scared, they didn't know to fight this kind of warfare, this kind of rebellion. The assassins left no trace and were never even seen.

              The ninja clans kept their identity secret and continued to assassinate government officials. A decade later, the empire collasped and a new government was formed in its ashes. There were no longer slaves, peasants or royals, everyone was made equal. The laws were changed and made just. Everyone thanked the ninja clans and they went into exile and traveled high in the mountains to find their old masters as some remained. In the years to come, their society prospered so much, they were now able to make the land below the mountains, habitable. The identities of the ninja clans were never discovered and so, they never received any praise or thanks. They didn't need any, their reward was to see their people now at peace.

              In the years to come, they encounted travelers from the East. They were men of strange clothing and customs. Even though, the Westlanders welcomed them with open arms. They shared and traded goods. The leaders of the West and East became good allies. They fought many wars together as allies. The West was an strong ally of the Alliance in the war against the Lak Empire. They fought together in all the wars against a ruthless and bloodthirsty army from the South, known as the Lak Empire. Each time, the Lak Empire's king was hung in the streets of the seven provinces of the Alliance. An enemy the West will never forget, was Nazo Reimei. A smart warrior who first attacked the West. But the East arrived in the West in time before the Nazo had destroyed everything.

                The West would have been destroyed long before the East arrived, if it wasn't for their greatest hero, Tenshi Megis. What everyone didn't know was, Tenshi's great grandfather was one of the ninjas that remained among the villagers. By the blade of Tenshi, Nazo met his death. Nazo, in his dying words, he had decreed he'd return to conquer all the lands. The words weighed heavily on Tenshi's mind. When the war ended, he returned home and traveled high in the mountains, he seeked a master. He told the master that there was a great evil that will come once again and he should prepare a warrior to battle evil. In secret, he gave the honor to one family and their one son. He told them their family bloodline will reside in an awesome champion who will vanquish evil upon its awakening. They were honored to be given such a responsibility. Since then, generation after generation of their bloondline had trained and prepared for the coming of evil.

                 Today, high in the mountains, a young man by the name of Tamashii Eien was the champion of this time. He had deep-set brown eyes and black hair that was very unkempt and always in his eyes. He was very lean and slender, but solid muscle. His father had trained his life as the champion, but his time was up and the mantle was passed to his son, Tamashii. He was trained in the same fashion as the martial artists. Though, his father still had purpose. Twice a year, he would travel to Jigoku mountain in the Southlands. It was that time, his second journey of the year to Jigoku mountain. He had been gone for weeks. Seigi expected him home any day now.

                 It was early in the morning. Tamashii was running as he did every morning. He ran along a small path between the mountain face and a cliff. A big gap was up ahead. He leaped as far as he could. His foot caught the very edge. He slipped and fell. He acted quick, and his hand caught the edge of the gap. Hanging from his hand, he started to pull himself up. Kneeling by the edge, he glanced back and he was running again. After his run, he went to the forest. There in the forest, he would practice his many patterns and meditated at the riverbed. Night came, and he was inside making himself dinner when he heard a horse outside. He knew it was his father, no one else ventures this high in the mountains. The door opened and his father looked grim. Tamashii was stunned.

 

It has finally happened, the evil has awakened.

The Legend of Jeniva

This is the origin of Jeniva and Cursed Oak.

Thousands of years ago lived a young woman. She was Queen Jeniva, ruler of the north realm. She led her village against neighbouring savage clans. She united them under one queen, one people, and one kingdom.

Before she was the courageous warrior princess. Before she was the fair and just ruler. When her father, the great leader of the legendary wolf clan died in battle, she was given to an old and wise man, Kenja. He was a kind and loving old man who raised her from an infant. He raised her to be a strong woman.

When she was old enough he told her to truth of her heritage. He told her she was given to him, to protect, to raise right, that she came from royal origins. She was the daughter of courageous warrior and leader of the legendary wolf clan.

She was destined to lead her people against the blood thirsty and savage clans. Destined to unite all the clans under one flag and bring peace to the lands. One Queen, one people, one kingdom.

But, the old man knew the young princess could not achieve so much alone. She needed a deadly and loyal protector that will ensure her safety. And such a wise man knew of—one warrior.

Ancient scrolls told of a warrior smeared with blood who pillaged and spilled blood in the name of justice and truth. A warrior whose sword was made out of red steel, a yellow autumn cloak, and eyes that could see into a man’s soul.

The same warrior was in a scroll a hundred years later. He was in many scrolls, hero to countless villages, survivor of all the greatest wars, and servant to all the greatest kings. But this hero was the one who made the kings and wars great.

It became obvious; this warrior was a godsend. He alone possessed the power to turn the tides of wars, conquer lands, and destroy kingdoms if his master so wished it. He carved the pages of history with his blade, laid the foundation for a castle with the blood of his enemies.

His name is Jedaru, the Warrior of the Ages.

Before he became the Warrior of the Ages, he was a young inexperienced soldier. He became a soldier to help his family and country defend themselves against foreign rulers. In his first battle, he was the last man in a bitter bloody battle. When he returned to his land, his king was surprised to know his youngest soldier was the sole survive of a bloody massacre.

He was quickly appointed to the general of his king’s army. Years passed, the young Jedaru had became a hard and fearless warrior and great general. His enemies said he could not be defeated in battle or slain by mortal hands.

So, one great and devious conquer devised a plan to rid the world of Jedaru forever. He called upon his powerful mages to construct a powerful and everlasting curse.

So they had begun the oldest and darkest of curses. From the great and black abyss, they resurrected a dark seed.

When all things were in place, they lured mighty Jedaru into the forest. He fell into a deep grave. Over the grave the mages watched and laughed as they dropped the seed into the grave and buried Jedaru alive. When they finished burying Jedaru, the seed took root. The roots entangled Jedaru, the dark seed grew into a mighty Oak the moment the last piece dirt touched the earth.

One mage spoke the words. "So long as the roots bind you, the Cursed Oak will remain.

Another mage spoke the second piece of the curse. "So long as the Cursed Oak remains, the body of Jedaru shall be sustained."

The third mage spoke the final words to the curse. "And forever you shall be imprisoned, till another speaks the name of those who trapped you shall lay buried."

As one, the mages pulled forth a dagger. Together, the dagger stabbed their hearts. The mage fell dead and their names lost forever in the sands of time.

But as perfect as their curse appears to be. When the north winds begin to blow. For six moons, the Oak sleeps and releases mighty Jedaru and he is allowed to walk the earth once again.

In that time, those that found a wandering Jedaru, destroyed their enemies and conquered countries.

Since then, Jedaru has been the Warrior of the Cursed Oak. And Kenja, he is the warrior who was destined to protect princess Jeniva and train her in the arts of the warrior.

And with him by her side, she grew into the deadly warrior her father once was. She defeated the militia of the villages and brought together the people. And thus, the great kingdom of Jeniva was formed.

Now, after a millennia of peace, a massive army from the south lands opposes Jeniva. The once peaceful kingdom faces annihilation. And the legend of Jeniva and the Cursed Oak is a mere fairytale.

… Yet again, Jeniva must awaken her invincible warrior to save her people and drive the enemy away.

The Heretic

The story takes place in a small town called Canmore, Canada. Andrew Blake, a boy in his early teens living with his grandpa always found the night sky fascinating. There was a sense of wonder and unknown world out in space. His grandpa’s house was out in the high hills beyond town, near a powerful telescope. He would visit the old scientist that lived in the facility. In school, he is just a kid no one bothers at all. His teachers watch his silent agony and do nothing. They see an average c minus student but they know he’s a genius in heart, but he just doesn’t care to try. What difference will it make if I’m the smartest in my class? It’ll only draw unwanted attention to me by the bullies.

After his look through the telescope he takes a walk out in the hills. He’s done this many times before when he can’t seem to make sense out of the world. All kinds of crawling beetles, ants, worms, and slimy maggots were crawling around inside dying trees, a dying forest. It hurts Andrew more to see the planet dying. It’s one of the thing he cared about. He didn’t know why it was the only other thing he cared about this world.

This night would change his life forever. The old professor said there was a shooting star early that day. It landed dangerously close to the small town of Canmore, but it just easily became afterthought in back of Andrew’s mind. As Andrew walked through the forest, snapping twigs and branches as well as crushing dead leaves. On a decaying log, a wasp hovered over and flew towards Andrew in a rush, stinging him deeply.

Andrew cried at as he felt the sting. A moment later, the wasp flew in his palm, and that’s when he realized there was something strange with this one. There were no signs of it injured, nor was it dying of old age. It was perfectly normal as it appeared. Until. Its eyes flashed a blue light! At that moment, its entire body was glowing blue. Abruptly, the wasp’s body fell apart, like when leaves crushed in a palm. Andrew was stunned at what he saw. He remained stunned, his heart beating fast. The shards of tissue of the wasp’s body were glowing a light blue hue.

What Andrew saw next was straight out of an alien horror picture! The shards of tissue melted into some type of blue blackish liquid. The liquid crawled all over Andrew’s entire body. As it covered Andrew entirely, the liquid changed into some kind of living tissue that was hardening every second. Whatever the liquid it was, it transformed Andrew from a weak small boy into a seven foot armored warrior.

Andrew was in shock. He looked at his hands. There was a black hole. Something told him it shot out needles. They were covered in slimy harden tissue that was alive. He turned back and saw two large spikes out of his back that folded into wings. His sight was no large black and white, but dark blue and white. He squeezed his hand into a fist and felt incredible power! He crouched down and launched himself three dozen feet into the air. He stared down, on his chest was a blue circle. Something told him it fired rare solar energy.

It was all too much, and Andrew fainted.

He then woke up back in his own bed like it was a dream. But when he looked at the palm he held the dying wasp in, it was pure black. Andrew’s eyes went wide, as an O. He couldn’t believe he was given such a power from the unknown. It was though the great vast universe had heard his cries at last. Or was this the creation of another plot that is part of a grander scheme than Andrew Blake’s little troubles?

Note: Not in chroniclogical order

• Andrew Blake faces seven evil aliens that also wield the deadly substance that makes Andrew into the mighty Black Jacket. The Will Vs. Flesh. (8 parts)
• Andrew uses the alien substance for his own gain and it disobeys, living Andrew without his great powers. Exploits (3 Parts)
• The truth about alien substance.(4 parts)
• Black Jacket stops an alien invasion before any realizes it. After he learns they only wish to steal all the resources from Earth.(5 parts)
• A very important person in Andrew's life is gone.(3 parts)
• That one very special girl.(5 parts)
• Loyalty to one's nation. 
• Filial piety to one's parents.
• Cultivation of capability.
• Righteous obligation between Teacher and Student.
• Trust between friends.
• Discretion in killing the living.
• Put into practice what is preached.
• Courtesy
• Humility
• Indomitable spirit
• Perseverance
• Self control
• WingLeaf
• A Setup! (2 parts)
• Redsteel
• Presian Wolf
• Daemon Black
• John Richard
• Dave Dice and the Elementals
• Vee #1
• Nemagoki Cain
• Hatred
• The World Tournement: This is where all future Heroes and Villians will square of against one another to learn who is the greatest warrior of all. Andrew Blake will find all his Foes here as well as all his friends he made. (10 parts)