Ishin's forum posts

#1 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio

@_vex_: (I lied, I just had to switch accounts, LOL)

Before him stood his most recent pupil, a son of Gothic, a defender of a city forsaken by its own government. And where he began as one too brittle for the mountain's harsh disposition, now the man was one of strength and fortitude, a warrior whose resolve was as resolute as his devotion for the greater good. He felt a sense of pride, Ishin. His gaze, ever-changing in its hue, held the Gothic son in his line of sight while Keijijo clansmen, lined in ceremonial position for the ascension of an outsider into one who had learned and mastered their secrets, held a collective gaze of respect. Ishin was a minimalist, and his words would be few, yet his gaze, his gaze spoke all the words of validation needed.

There was no subtle gesture, no inclination of the head in respect and cordiality. No, an outsider who succeeded was deserving of more. Ishin therefore, bowed. His courteous communication, sincere and genuine before his previous posture returned to him. "Take pride in your achievement, son of Gothic. And never forget", he paused, "That to the outside world, we, the Keijijo Clan, are to be forgotten". It was a simple request, the only request. That they remain relatively unknown, beyond the reach of most, beyond the radar of the outside world.

#2 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio


The man, disheveled and malnourished, spoke of Gothic City, and of being the forsaken metropolis' son. One who had broken the hopes and dreams of his city's people. He seemed to rasp every word, this son of Gothic. His voice was weary, his mouth dry, and his lips cracked from the cryogenic climate of this fabled mountain. Ishin listened, measured calm and an earnest visage held by his features. His fingers, they coiled in instinct, around the hilt of his nihonto, yet his body language spoke of no violent intent, no desire for combat. It was instinct, nothing more, nothing less. "A man learns much about himself when faced with opposition", the former Impero began, notes of wisdom in his voice.

"In climbing our mountain, you learned much of your own limits. The fortitude of your mind and body. That despite our mountain's insistence on stripping you bare and leaving you to die with the weaklings who have failed to overcome it, you managed to defy it". Ishin paused, listening to this son of Gothic's words, his revelation of the identity of the man, or rather the boy who informed him of the monastery's location. "I know of the Knightfalls", the Eastern Enigma remarked, memories of his severed friendship with Quintus Knightfall manifesting in a warrior's mind for but a moment. "But I did not know that a Marcus Antonius existed", he made clear rather bluntly. He knew not of the Knightfall prodigy yet it was Marcus who was responsible for Reisho's restoration.

"You seek to strengthen yourself. You will strengthen your body, mind, and spirit. You will sharpen your skills and your senses. Your body will grow accustomed to the hardships of this mountain until you can climb it with authority. You are not the first to seek our aid and you will not be the last. But I will demand of you what I demand of everyone who seeks our teachings", Ishin paused, his gaze never wavering. "You will speak of us to no one".

#4 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio


Gone was the straw hat, Asian and conical, from his person. No longer was his head adorned by it, and yet, the mystique, the enigmatic appeal from its cast shadow remained. Around him it hung, hung like a force of nature so prominent, so authoritative in its power, that some were left stunned, intimidated, and others in wonderment. Footsteps, bare and dripping with an air that was cool, that spoke of control, rippled against the surface of hard, dried wood. The air was warm, it was moist, and it was nurturing. Different from its sibling, the air that lurked beyond the monastery's gates. There the air was cold and unforgiving, too eager to leave on the flesh of men, frost, and in their bones, freezing bits of ice rock.

And where the sky was unseen beyond, left unclear by the haze of unending snowfall and fog from ice drier than normal, within the monastery's walls, the sky was open, a mesmeric shade of azure tattooed with clouds that drifted here and there. The air did not freeze the nostrils when breathed in, and the scent of wood and of earth was great. Here, one's breath did not mist during speech, it was Reisho. The footsteps echoed with greater prominence, lingering in the air a second longer as if to remind those who dared forget that Ishin was to arrive. His sword, a Japanese nihonto whose blade was hugged snugly by its scabbard, was held in the embrace of the black sash that festooned around the waist, his men's kimono.

His hair was not graceful. This was no waterfall of liquid ebony or obsidian. His hair was long, some strands curly, others are not as much. It was black, and told not to drape over his shoulders and frame his features by that which held it, styled it in a men's ponytail. His visage was rough, touched by an expression of stoicism and a confidence colder than ice. They held a mystifying yet roguish character, his features. And his eyes, a shade that was ever-changing in color, were predatory and wise. His senses, supernatural and cultured, flared, told him of the active chi reserves of he who had sought them in the first place, and told him, Ishin, that the man was alive and well. Yet his expression, it remained unmoved, resolute.

A turn to the left, and with bows and silence, and then a question from the one who hailed from lands beyond their monastery, he was welcomed into a room. Ishin was tall, and sculpted to the proportions of an Eastern Spartan. And he, he moved with the flair of such. Of Leonidas, and of Sun Tzu, of Ares, and of the warrior spirit itself. He paused, three feet from the man who, from the floor, rasped his questions. And Ishin responded, the poise, the measured and commanding timbre of his voice, deep and low, hanging alongside the exotic notes of his Japanese inflection. 'What now?', the man asked. "You came to our gates of your own free will. So, you tell us".

#5 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio

@feral_nova: I'm pretty sure she has but you know, I could be remembering incorrectly, but I'm not ;)

#6 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio

@feral_nova: I just know you and Mercy have one at some point, LOL.

#7 Edited by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio

@feral_nova: LOL. I feel like at some point we should get all the past KOV champions and have them battle it out in an all out brawl or something.

#8 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio
#9 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio


With perfect clarity, he remembered. Remembered how once, perhaps during his early years of adulthood, or perhaps the early years of his childhood. It was all so long ago, thousands of years, buried in the strands of time, the ropes of eons, yet still, he remembered. How the climb, a climb tales told was laborious, was once a task too difficult, too challenging for a body unaccustomed to the rigors it now thrives in. Though as he walked, climbing each step with a confidence colder than the frost clinging to his dermis, he wondered, was it once challenging? Or was he once weak? Ishin, former 'Impero' of a forgotten clan now reborn, dealt with his thoughts in silence.

The air was unwelcoming, carrying with it the gelid touch that had slain many by freezing bone. It whipped all about him, whispering, before hissing. He climbed. The sound of snow, crushed beneath his steps, hung in the air with prominence. Adorning his frame, tall and built to the proportions of an Eastern god of war, was a men's kimono. Traditional in flair, midnight blue in color. From its sash, black, hung his sword, a Japanese nihonto of greater properties than its weathered appearance implied. An Asian straw hat, conical in shape, and beige in shade, rested atop his head, casting over features, stoic and of rough, enigmatic appeal, a shadow, one that fortified his mystique, his predatory edge.

The journey grew dull, yet his pores never ceased, never ceased oozing that gravitas, that air of commanding experience, wisdom, and strength. In his line of sight, the monastery's gates emerged, and his eyes, cold pools of arctic blue, sharpened. Footsteps brought him closer, then, then however, his approach came to a halt. His gaze shifted, from the gates to the shell of an unconscious man lying before them. He uttered no words. His arm extended, and his hand gripped the man by the collar. He walked, dragging the waning soul across the snow and into the warm, nurturing domain behind the monastery walls until the gates behind them were shut. With his grip relinquished, his walk resumed.

But not however, prior to having words with the gate's guards. "Nurse him back to health", Ishin instructed, the stoic and icy timbre of his voice, deep and low, echoing with clarity, "Then bring him to me".

#10 Posted by Ishin (6851 posts) - - Show Bio

@pyrogram: I remember something about both his mother and sister being very ill (not in the hip hop way ;)) at the time so naturally, he took offense. LMAO Suarez is a social degenerate.