Tamashi's Tales
Written by @Customable
Art by @Customable
Proof Readers: @RexLobo, @DivingBlues, @PretzelEnthusiast6969 and @THE England
Written by @Customable
Art by @Customable
Proof Readers: @RexLobo, @DivingBlues, @PretzelEnthusiast6969 and @THE England
This is a series of short stories, written from the perspective of Tamashi Tankyu (Kitsa)
This document is not to be taken ICly unless stated otherwise by the author or lore team coordinator.
1
I always called it Far Shore, for the lake I woke up in; far from any other realm, peaceful, serene, not a sound save for the swaying trees in the winds that passed the hills, the same winds that swept over the lakes of the blossom valley; home to me. The first thing I remember is our sun, similar to the one that grazed the middle world but mightier, blazing more lively than anything you can imagine, but still warm; its presence swept across the lake's surface that I stood knee-deep in, looking over the wilds. It was- pleasant. Pleasantries are familiar with Inari. A welcoming stance and embrace as if one of their children, born new and in their vision; to be taught, nurtured, watered. I'd understand there was more to my existence before the lake. I and the sun felt so acquainted, yet so distant, as if memories could come flooding back at a moment's notice but were kept from me, just out of reach. It would not be the first time I felt such familiarity. Frustrating really. Inari would educate me on my higher purpose, what I would become and the stories of the gods which occupied the lands of Takamagahara; they would never tell me why I met the lakes with such intimacy, only explaining the process of reincarnation among gods but never why. Why I felt the waters again at my feet, and why I knew I had felt them before. They would usher me past the topic and feed me the grand tales which they had hoped would forge my course, those stories of course never sinking too deep. I can't say for sure I understand what I was, and had become or why I knew those lakes so well, but I knew a few things were sure to me; the sun against my body, the valleys which filled my view and the feeling of my wet fur. |
2
I have dawned a name, Tamashi, meaning soul; familiarity once more struck hearing the name ingrain itself upon my being. Inari explained the importance of a name among us and how each carried its meaning, showing your purpose and why it was important that some knew your name and others did not; names existed as gifts from others, marking acknowledgement as more than an object or a thing. I knew this was not the first time I had received this name. By the time my naming had come to light, I was aware of my uniqueness, a kitsune born of two tails. Hanahe and Haruhe, I would come to name them both, first daughter and first son; I could manifest my tails as separate individuals, speak with and understand them as if my own children. Companions I could rely on in the darkest times, wherever the waves of the realms might lead me. The high kami earned their names from the humans that worshipped them in the middle world and preserved them with dignity; shrines built in their honour celebrate the gifts and changes they patron within the realm, festivals held in devotion to them which instilled their beliefs even further, some even adjuring to the more morally ambiguous deities among us. I would always wonder why these humans held us in such high regard despite our rare instances of intervention; some stories shrouding our kind were exaggerated or inaccurate at times. In time, my name came with its purpose: a soul seeker, Tamashi Tankyu, a retainer of Yomi, a guide to wandering souls. My significance. |
3
Near Shore, I had come to call Yomi this due to its relation to the Middle World; the only description I could give Yomi was explaining the entire realm as one large concept. It was nearly identical to the Middle World, yet so different: The sky sat in constant darkness, its wilderness and foliage within the green-filled forests almost wilting away, its colour falling grey and dull. It felt so lonely. Souls of the deceased roamed idly, in a trance, as if in their worlds within their heads, something I would only come to understand later on when discussing my role in this limbo with Inari. Regrets build a foundation defined by the individual's understanding of their actions and what the high kami considers the natural order. I saw this as archaic; I couldn't argue with my duties, so I didn't. Often, I would find myself sitting within the muted barrens of the realm, wondering what provoked such a resolution, something they called a lesson; to me, it was tragic—so much time spent in these ruins, repeating mistakes; it felt like hell. The other seekers were less than forthcoming, docile and uncaring; not a word escaped their lips as if only there to serve their purpose and go; it was difficult to tell if they could even feel; it felt more like they were sentinels; cogs in a machine only to turn which only made me feel worse for the poor souls brought here by them. If one were to experience profound loneliness, this place would serve as a perfect illustration. The imperfect mirror. |
4
| The Middle World, named for its placement between Takamagahara and Yomi, served as a sanctuary for all mortals. The mirror world had never looked more beautiful in its solemn embrace; winds would shake the rice fields unstill as the foliage glistened in the beauty of the sun; its lands thrived, at least it did where humanity did not follow. Nature is cruel and unforgiving, a harsh reality that the weak are preyed upon by those who can claim power and control it; I was no less aware of the constant strife for survival, for my kind had similar instincts in places; humanity was messy, however. Among the gods, they would show respect for each other upon disputes and set boundaries; some of the human race followed this example from the gods, but most did not. A hierarchy was among the savages as they gained understanding, will and ability to manipulate those less gifted or fortunate; governments and law told them right from wrong and were changed constantly to fit those who could afford to twist it in their favour. They called disobedience treason, and all who opposed were labelled anarchists; the true anarchy was how they had managed to usurp so much control over their kind, calling it unity despite their lack of choice, but it wasn't the worst of it; if there was one thing humanity was better at than taking control, it was fighting each other. Blood and corpses blanketed fields, while weapons crafted to massacre seized the gifts we had bestowed on them; weightless actions without justified cause plagued all reason and left only scars upon the sacred lands we had hoped they would use to learn; above all, they fought in our names, our honour, my kind none the wiser to this pain and strife. Ultimately, it would be me coming to collect, for it was what they're good at. |
To be updated.
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