The Night Before
Jan 11, 2006 7:10:16 GMT
Post by Musashi on Jan 11, 2006 7:10:16 GMT
Musashi stood, uncomfortably below the huge crowd the night before the start of the World Martial Arts Tournament. His transformations had left him a very different person than he had been before, and he was not ready to participate in such tests again. Still, he had a duty to perform, as the letter had informed him. It seemed that this year, the Juins had decided not to participate in the tournament, and so, as the third place finisher, he was required to deliver the Champions Belt and Cup back to their place of honor.
The crowd roared as the nation of Isysia performed for the masses, trotting out their natural treasuresoff. Great herds of grazing beasts trampled throughout the grounds below, then quickly off moved off the field. A pride of Isysian lions, the largest cats on Eden, followed, moving with unbelievable power and grace as they bounded across the arena following their trainers. Tumblers and other circus types followed, showing off their array of talents and tossing toys and trinkets to the children in the lower decks.
Then, the fireworks exploded, lighting the air above the huge dome so brightly that the bursts could be seen across the Lemon Sea. The pyrotechnics went on and on to the grand marches of the Isysian high band, trumpets screaming out patriotic melodies to accompany the bright flashes of color in the evening air.
When it all died down, the arena grew quiet. The most sacred part of the ceremony. Musashi stalked forward without a sound, robes casting light and throwing odd shadows form the microphones and cameras on the central platform. He spoke not a word but carried the cup high above his head, and the championship belt draped across his shoulder. He placed the cup on its golden pedestal, triggering a dazzling array of spotlights to shoot up and illuminate the trophy. He laid the belt beneath it, ready to be worn by the next champion.
Musahsi turned to the candelabra set before him. It was wrought of pure silver and each candle was nearly 10 feet high. The row stretched out before him, one candle for each and every fighter who had ever died in defense of Eden. This was the condition he’d made with the government before he’d accepted their demand for him participating in the theatrics. He reached his hand up slowly and a bolt of white flame surged out, igniting the first candle, a process he repeated with careful precision. While he did so faces rose up on the projector screen, reminding all who came to the event that sometimes these fighters were called upon for more than just putting on a good show.
By the time Musashi reached the last candle, there was silence in the massive arena. Each person was thinking about his or her nation’s fallen heroes, as was intended. When the Saiyan reached the last candle, the spotlight on the trophy dimmed, plunging the arena into darkness. Ghostly images of the dead rose up and floated from the stage to the ceiling, fading to nothingness. When the house lights came back up, the man was gone and the night’s show was over.
The crowd roared as the nation of Isysia performed for the masses, trotting out their natural treasuresoff. Great herds of grazing beasts trampled throughout the grounds below, then quickly off moved off the field. A pride of Isysian lions, the largest cats on Eden, followed, moving with unbelievable power and grace as they bounded across the arena following their trainers. Tumblers and other circus types followed, showing off their array of talents and tossing toys and trinkets to the children in the lower decks.
Then, the fireworks exploded, lighting the air above the huge dome so brightly that the bursts could be seen across the Lemon Sea. The pyrotechnics went on and on to the grand marches of the Isysian high band, trumpets screaming out patriotic melodies to accompany the bright flashes of color in the evening air.
When it all died down, the arena grew quiet. The most sacred part of the ceremony. Musashi stalked forward without a sound, robes casting light and throwing odd shadows form the microphones and cameras on the central platform. He spoke not a word but carried the cup high above his head, and the championship belt draped across his shoulder. He placed the cup on its golden pedestal, triggering a dazzling array of spotlights to shoot up and illuminate the trophy. He laid the belt beneath it, ready to be worn by the next champion.
Musahsi turned to the candelabra set before him. It was wrought of pure silver and each candle was nearly 10 feet high. The row stretched out before him, one candle for each and every fighter who had ever died in defense of Eden. This was the condition he’d made with the government before he’d accepted their demand for him participating in the theatrics. He reached his hand up slowly and a bolt of white flame surged out, igniting the first candle, a process he repeated with careful precision. While he did so faces rose up on the projector screen, reminding all who came to the event that sometimes these fighters were called upon for more than just putting on a good show.
By the time Musashi reached the last candle, there was silence in the massive arena. Each person was thinking about his or her nation’s fallen heroes, as was intended. When the Saiyan reached the last candle, the spotlight on the trophy dimmed, plunging the arena into darkness. Ghostly images of the dead rose up and floated from the stage to the ceiling, fading to nothingness. When the house lights came back up, the man was gone and the night’s show was over.