User:Ffyll

The tales and adventures of Ffyll Oust Blach

Here are the tales which tell of the adventures I've been on. They are quite a long read, but should offer insight into my life. If you've got the patience to read, I've got the patience to write. Enjoy.

The First Adventure: Finding Oneself and Realising One's Do

Hello, my dear reader. My name is Ffyll Oust Blach, though I prefer just Ffyll for some reasons. So you wish to read my story, the tale of how I arrived in Buya? It will take a while to read, forgive me, but I can leave no details out. My journey has taken me to the brink of death, redeemed my soul from that brink, and now I seek the ways of the Do, knowing that my heart is Do. If you can learn something from my tale, then learn; if you feel I've missed a part out that you were in, add it; and if you think it will make a good tale for a campfire in the midst of a wood in the company of friend, then don't hesitate to recall. It is, like every story, unfinished, but this first tale will tell you more of who I am.

My journey to Buya started just after my 16th birthday, but there are things you will need to know before I begin the tale in ernest. My family lived in a small Han village on the edge of a fairly well-off town. About 5,000 people worked as farmers and craftsmen in the town, most lived out in nearby villages. Every morning people would get up and travel miles to go to work - not people from my village, though: we were all farmers. The only villager allowed to work in the town was my father. This was because he wasn't from Ilbon, as the rest of the older ones were. Before I was born, many'd fled the brutal and never ending war that engulfed that country (it still rages today). Because of the war, my people, though not unwelcome, were always treated with a slight contempt.

Anyway, my father, Ryan Llanis Blach wasn't from Ilbon, but no from Han either. He was from a country very far away. When he was 19, he'd picked up his things and left home, travelling for almost 15 years by sail, horse and foot; as he went he crossed water, vast plains, never-ending forests, dry and dealy deserts, more strentches of water, more deserts, more plains, and another ocean, until, finally, he'd settled down in Lauriesgori, the village. He got married some 15 weeks after arriving, to a beautiful twenty year old girl called Klaya, and half a year later, his first child, a son, was born. Now this son troubled his poor Ilbon - born mother with a labour that lasted two days, and the son was very small and weak. I am told I almost died, but obviously came through. To recognise this fearlessness of fighting death, father named me Ffyll. It means, in his native language, 'Fearless Angel'. To punish me for the pain and trouble I put my poor mother through, she insisted on a girly name, and thus 'Oust', named after Ryan's Goddess of fertility and spring time, was chosen. I've tried to forget that, but yes, it is true: I am named after a goddess of fertility.

I was joined a year after by a sister, and then two more. Kyria was just a year younger, and the twins Rahyl and Lauros were born when I was 4. There was a academy nearby, and I was, on my 5th birthday, enrolled in the Iaido Baisho-Tyra School of Martial Arts. I seemed to excel in fighting studies, and for 11 happy years I went to school, learnt all the 12 iaido kata, learnt to perform them flawlessly, and led a very happy life. Fairly poor, yes, but very well loved, peaceful, happy and innocent was the peasant life Ryan and Klaya gave me and my sisters.

That peaceful life was shattered just days after my 16th birthday. I remember some of the events vividly, some of them not at all. I remember returning from school, extremely happy that I had just passed my first set of exams to earn my Oh-Dan grade in Iaido (I was Sa-Dan at the time, the 9th of 16 grades that can be awarded). Mother was at home, cooking a beef stew, and my sisters were already at home. Father was at work, or so we thought. Then came the knock at the door.

Mother went to answer it, wondering who it could be. A guard stood there, solemnly. I remember mother screaming as she saw father, beaten and covered in blood, being held standing up between two guards. "What happened?" she cried as she tried to push her way to him.

The guard pushed her into the house. "Back!" He spoke in such harsh tones. "This man, your husband, is a criminal. He was arrested a short time ago for adultery. He has admitted his crime and..."

The rest is a blur to me. I know Mother dropped to her knees and wailed. I'm sure I hurried my sisters upstairs and returned with my sword, but the men were already gone. Mother was distraught. We both knew the penalty for such a thing was execution, before the next sunrise. We didn't know what to say to each other or do.

That night we visited father and he admitted his crimes against mother and the family. They couldn't look each other in the eyes and I said nothing at all, numb, imagining myself not there. I knew my father would be dead the next morning, but I could barely feel a thing. I hugged him when the guards came to take him, and held mother back when she tried to go with him. That was the last I saw of my father alive. He was executed and buried as a criminal.

3 days passed and the house felt like a morgue. We were all crushed. No one spoke, mother just wailed and wailed. To make matters so much worse, we began to find out about his secret life. He had another 2 children in another village... and a third in yet another. In some ways I was quite admiring of how he'd managed to keep his family from knowing about his 2 mistresses, and support them all. And, to be honest, I didn't know he had it in him to keep three women on the go! But those feelings soon disappeared when guards moved in to take our furniture from our home - apparently the mistresses needed financial support too.

On that forth morning I could bare the house no longer. I went to school for the day, taking my sisters for some fresher air. It was the worst thing I could have done. We returned to such a terrible thing I can barely write it. Suffice to say mother had killed herself. Perhaps she couldn't bare the shame and humiliation, perhaps the feelings of loneliness were too much. Perhaps she just killed herself in despair. Anyway, you can imagine the effect losing two parents in 4 days had on us. It is nothing that a 16, 15 and two 12 years olds should every need to experience.

A week after mother's funeral, I made another mistake. I'd barely eaten and had left my room only to check on my sisters or eat some food scraps. I wasn't thinking, I was just sad, pained, numb, almost unable to articulate or express how I felt. I remember finding my way to father's study, where I knew he kept bottles of liquor. I spat out the foul-tasting first mouthful, but felt drawn to take another. This sip made me cough, but I persisted. I managed to get through an entire bottle, it became easier to drink as I became more drunk. One of my 12 year old sister tried to stop me and got a rather undeserved slap across the face. It shames me to remember such a thing.

I slept well that night, for the first time since that first terrible day. I have some fairly interesting dreams, and remember waking up feeling unusually happy. It took me a while to remember - and when I did, the pain hit me like a building might collapse on top of me. I cried all day, the emotional low following the drink the night before made me feel even worse. That night, in my sorrow, I found another bottle. It was easier to drink it the second night.

So I began to drink. Money gifted to me to look after my family by kind friends was used instead to buy more intoxicating liquids. I consumed them as quick as I could, escaping each night from the pain and becoming feeling and acting worse in the day time. I stopped attended Iaido class, I slapped my sisters if they tried to stop me or made me angry, and at times, when money was short, I'd steal wine from the merchants. If people tried to help me I would rage at them, becoming like a demon, uncontrollable, full of hate and venom. It was just 5 weeks into my intense encounter with liquor that my sisters left me, kindly taken in by an aunt who could not bare to see her nieces hit almost every day.

Of course, this made me worse. Before long I was continually drunk, begging for coins which were spent on drink. It was my sole relief, but the double edge blade was taking away far more than it was giving. My senses were taken from me, and I became a shell, a husk of a boy, living to drink, drinking to die.

6 months passed, and I 'lived' in a way that I can only express as living without life. I don't know what happened on this day, except that I must have gotten into a fight. I woke up about 3 in the afternoon in a muddy ditch a few miles from the village. My headache was terrible and I ached all over. My Katana, a gift from my father on achieving Sa Dan Iaido, was at my side, as was a hurriedly packed bed roll. A note informed me I'd been expelled from the area for drunkenness and fighting in public, and that I would 'be under no protection', by the following sunrise. I knew what that meant - I wouldn't legally exist if I didn't get moving. I didn't try to turn back, I knew I had no home anymore.

It was still cold, being spring, and I was shivering. I must have been lying in the water for an hour or so. It took me half an hour to painfully stand up. Whoever had dumped me here had put his great boots and fists all over me. I realised some ribs were broken, likely a finger or two as well, and I was bruised from neck to knee, cut along my arms where I'd been dragged. I was badly hung over, but knowing I would be killed unless I crossed the border into the neighbouring province, I was soon limping along.

I didn't make the border by the time, but no one came for me. Maybe knowing that I wasn't worth anyone's time even to kill was worse than knowing I'd been exiled from my home. It was as if I was lower than a snake or rabbit that one might expend energy to kill to eat. It took me 4 days to cross the border, into the mountains. I was starving, so hungry I ate soil-covered vegetables I ripped from a field. In such a bad way, I could barely walk, let along hunt. Without knowing why, I walked, or rather stumbled, along a track into the mountais. Higher and higher it led, as I grew weaker and weaker. I stumbled, fell onto a sore rip, and fainted with the pain. Miles from anyone, unconscious, my soul and body eaten away by half a year's abuse, I lay, barely alive in the spring.

With one last bout of mental strength I pulled myself into consciousness again, tried to pick myself up, before finally collapsing due to exhaustion.

There, with a last whimper, I died.

Well, I say I died. Almost; I'm told I was unconscious for 8 whole days. When I awoke, I was warm, clean and my wounds were dressed. I could barely see, my eyes were blurry. I groaned for water - water was given to me. I moaned for food, and the tastiest rabbit stew was lovingly fed to me. As I came back to life for the next hour, my vision and wits returning, I realised I was wrapped in fine blankets, next to a warm campfire. There were people around me - 9 friends I would late learn. They seemed very glad I'd woken up.

It was embarrassing at first, thanking people I didn't know for their kindness, and also humbling that they would treat me so well, without knowing what a terrible being I was. I slowly recounted my sorry tale, or what I could remember of it, and they told me their names, and said I would be travelling with them for a while. They were a band of travellers, they said, and I was lucky to have been found. They were all friendly, but rather mysterious. They didn't seem to get annoyed when I got angry with myself, and only had compassion and wise words when I cried.

The alcohol still had effects on me, of course. I craved for the stuff, and when I didn't get it, I got into my usual angry rages. The travellers didn't seem in any way bothered, and when they calmed me down, they talked about the need for self-control, the need to master myself and let go of my anger. I followed their techniques, meditation and weapons training, and soon my craving for the liquor subsided. I stayed with the group for the rest of spring, travelling here and there, learning some more forms of self-control, some more kata and really learning to love my life again.

One night they seemed to have a challenge for me. Around a campfire, a bottle of wine was passed around. I felt a deep passion to put the glass to my lips and take a swig. The bottle was passed to me. Everyone was watching. I think they knew I wouldn't take any, but they all smiled when I passed it on, undrunk. It was liberating. From that moment on, I've not wanted the wine like I used to. They had made sure I would deal with my pain properly, without abusing myself, or escaping from it with alcohol.

Spring turned to summer, then to autumn, and the winter came. The group was still in the mountains, travelling every day, talking, reciting tales, meditating, hunting and camping. I'm sure we were going round in circles, but they seemed to do it with purpose. I had regained most of my strength, and by now my rage attacks were rare. I still had them on the occasional times I felt really lonely, or cut off, but my new family didn't seem to mind too much. Not one of them made a comment about tantrum or how young ones are volatile, or make any of the usual taunts. The winter was cold, but by living as a family, helping each other, cooking and hunting with each other, none of us really felt the cold.

In due course it was spring again, and then the start of summer. We were up in the mountains, overlooking a village. I could make out a DoJoung below. The leader of the group, who was known as Jung (though I'm sure that was a title, not a name) asked me to follow him. He pointed to the training area below. "Come," he said, "this is where we're going today."

It was a real trek down the mountain, and I went in front. It took a few hours but we eventually got to the foot of the hills. At the edge of the forest was a path which lead to the village. There was a sign: 'Sanhae Village'. I smiled, and turned to point it out to my companion.

He'd gone. Like they always did, he'd disappeared into the shadows. I looked for just a few seconds, but I knew I'd never find him if I tried to. He'd pointed me to the DoJoung, and left me. Goodbyes would have upset me.

I took a deep breath as I left the forest. I'd barely spoken to anyone other than the small band since I was exiled all those months before. But I was almost 18 now, far more confident than I had been, and walked with a spring in my step. As I arrived at the inn, I looked back up the mountain. On the ledge where I'd looked down from, I could just make out the figures of those who wanted to show themselves one last time. There was no going back now. I waved, turned, and entered the inn.

And so it was that I moved to Sanhae. It didn't take me long to explore Buya, and make friends. Like many new people, I found a tutor, who helped me get to know the city. I kept returning to that DoJoung, to study, to think, to seek. Someone sold me an ancient parchment in return for a fox blade. I could not believe I had been without it all my life! The teachings made so much sense, and as I read the stories I seemed to live through them as I read. Every time I read, my soul yearned for more understanding. Every time I trained or meditated, I thought about the stories and how I could become more like these Do I read about. Occasionally a nightmare would still disturb me, but the DoJoung's garden would help me concentrate and meditate again, to find my balance.

This concludes my tale, really. I'm still here, a Do seeker, still training and yearning to master myself. It's strange, I know I'm Do at heart, but my occasional rages and nightmares still cloud that. I have a great deal to learn about weapons and fighting, about mastering myself, but I'm really rather enjoying finding it all out. Being a seeker is... quite natural to me, really. I'm young and eager to learn - though, perhaps strangely, most of what I've discovered about myself so far I've found out on my own. I love and value my life because I almost lost it; I value self-control because at one time I was not controlled; I value patience and humility because these were the values that those who saved me taught me.

My tale won't end here. I hope you've enjoyed reading it, dear reader. Learn any lessons you can find in my tale. Use it to better yourself. If you want to know how I get on, pop by Sanhae some time. I won't have left.

One thing remains for me to write: if you are the group of Do who rescued me, know that you did more than save a person from death. You put me back on my path, you cared for me, and you taught me how to control myself when that was the last thing on my mind. So, kind Do, if you hear this narrative, this story, my story of how I came to Buya and found the Do, I have this to say: ten thousand thank yous to each of you would not be enough for me to properly acknowledge you.

By Ffyll, Do Seeker