I. Reforged [ In the time since he was given a human body with which to serve his master, Yamanbagiri has garnered something of a reputation for his willingness to get dirtied. Rather, his refusal to wash his cloak unless his arm has been effectively twisted is a known fact in the honmaru, one that a more fastidious sword actively battles him over.
But that doesn't mean that Yamanbagiri has ever rolled around in the dirt on purpose. Neither has he been buried before. When the light of that stone fades and soil presses in around him, he struggles against his new confines in a panic.
What emerges first isn't just Yamanbagiri himself — rather, it's a sheathed sword clenched tight in his fist which thrusts up from the earth. An orange cord decorates the throat of that scabbard, carefully bound around it, and just as laden with dirt as the rest of him as he drags himself free. ]
II. Twice Reflected (Highstorm informational meeting) [ Truthfully, this all feels like that dream world they'd been investigating. The more Yamanbagiri sees, the more this thought impresses upon him. He drifts about the periphery of the gathering, his tattered white cloak giving the suggestion of a ghost, not quite certain what to do with himself in absence of any familiarity but concept.
That is, until he sees his reflection in the water isn't simply his reflection. What he spots on the water's surface isn't him alone — isn't him in the present. Instead, he's greeted with the image of a peaceful day. He sees himself seated on the honmaru's veranda sipping tea alongside another figure, a fellow in prim, tidy clothing that seems in ways to mirror and contrast his, with silver hair and piercing blue eyes.
His attention rivets on that face, that countenance, far more than his own. ]
What would you do, if you were here?
[ He mumbles the words sullenly, knowing full well the other Yamanbagiri blade cannot hear him. ]
III. Party City (Springstar streets) [ Parties, parties everywhere.
Yamanbagiri brings a certain wet cat energy to the jubilant, bright streets of Springstar. In absence of comrades and leadership and the general structure of his day-to-day life as a touken danshi, he's left to ruminate over the matter himself. Effectively, this sees him wandering between one burst of festivity and another, frowning in deep thought as he makes his way along.
If he's the only one that remains, what should he do? Their role, their duty, is to preserve the true history. But what is that truth? Yamanbagiri would like to think this would be easier to parse after their recent missions, yet he finds himself uselessly spinning his wheels.
Off in his own world as he is, he walks right into someone before taking notice of them. He jolts, sheathed sword still gripped at his side even now, and blinks owlishly at the person he'd just bumbled into from under the heavy shadow his tattered hood casts over his eyes in the bright Springstar sun. ]
Ah—
[ Eloquent as ever. ]
IV. Inquiring Minds (Communion) [ The first thing that floats into one's awareness is a hesitancy so pervasive it practically buzzes in the background. That's all there is at first, like distant cicadas on a heady summer evening, until a voice abruptly cuts through it. ]
How do you decide which master to serve, in this place?
[ Is it altering history if the world is restored, or is their loss a lie? Yamanbagiri doesn't know. What he does know is that there are others here who have preceded him, and surely they must have reasons. In absence of guidance from those he'd rely on back on the honmaru, he must ask strangers. ]
Zenith or Meridian...do you believe in them?
[ Their cause or what they have to say? He doesn't specify. Silence reigns then, until he ventures a last, cautious inquiry: ]
Yamanbagiri Kunihiro | Touken Ranbu Warriors
[ In the time since he was given a human body with which to serve his master, Yamanbagiri has garnered something of a reputation for his willingness to get dirtied. Rather, his refusal to wash his cloak unless his arm has been effectively twisted is a known fact in the honmaru, one that a more fastidious sword actively battles him over.
But that doesn't mean that Yamanbagiri has ever rolled around in the dirt on purpose. Neither has he been buried before. When the light of that stone fades and soil presses in around him, he struggles against his new confines in a panic.
What emerges first isn't just Yamanbagiri himself — rather, it's a sheathed sword clenched tight in his fist which thrusts up from the earth. An orange cord decorates the throat of that scabbard, carefully bound around it, and just as laden with dirt as the rest of him as he drags himself free. ]
II. Twice Reflected (Highstorm informational meeting)
[ Truthfully, this all feels like that dream world they'd been investigating. The more Yamanbagiri sees, the more this thought impresses upon him. He drifts about the periphery of the gathering, his tattered white cloak giving the suggestion of a ghost, not quite certain what to do with himself in absence of any familiarity but concept.
That is, until he sees his reflection in the water isn't simply his reflection. What he spots on the water's surface isn't him alone — isn't him in the present. Instead, he's greeted with the image of a peaceful day. He sees himself seated on the honmaru's veranda sipping tea alongside another figure, a fellow in prim, tidy clothing that seems in ways to mirror and contrast his, with silver hair and piercing blue eyes.
His attention rivets on that face, that countenance, far more than his own. ]
What would you do, if you were here?
[ He mumbles the words sullenly, knowing full well the other Yamanbagiri blade cannot hear him. ]
III. Party City (Springstar streets)
[ Parties, parties everywhere.
Yamanbagiri brings a certain wet cat energy to the jubilant, bright streets of Springstar. In absence of comrades and leadership and the general structure of his day-to-day life as a touken danshi, he's left to ruminate over the matter himself. Effectively, this sees him wandering between one burst of festivity and another, frowning in deep thought as he makes his way along.
If he's the only one that remains, what should he do? Their role, their duty, is to preserve the true history. But what is that truth? Yamanbagiri would like to think this would be easier to parse after their recent missions, yet he finds himself uselessly spinning his wheels.
Off in his own world as he is, he walks right into someone before taking notice of them. He jolts, sheathed sword still gripped at his side even now, and blinks owlishly at the person he'd just bumbled into from under the heavy shadow his tattered hood casts over his eyes in the bright Springstar sun. ]
Ah—
[ Eloquent as ever. ]
IV. Inquiring Minds (Communion)
[ The first thing that floats into one's awareness is a hesitancy so pervasive it practically buzzes in the background. That's all there is at first, like distant cicadas on a heady summer evening, until a voice abruptly cuts through it. ]
How do you decide which master to serve, in this place?
[ Is it altering history if the world is restored, or is their loss a lie? Yamanbagiri doesn't know. What he does know is that there are others here who have preceded him, and surely they must have reasons. In absence of guidance from those he'd rely on back on the honmaru, he must ask strangers. ]
Zenith or Meridian...do you believe in them?
[ Their cause or what they have to say? He doesn't specify. Silence reigns then, until he ventures a last, cautious inquiry: ]
...Are there...any other swords here?