Fanfic: Tales of the Blood Iris Citadel
Game: Tōken Ranbu (刀剣乱舞 Pocket)
Synopsis: A journal-entry/travelogue-style fic that chronicles the everyday happenings in the citadel of my Tōken Ranbu account. Written from the first-person perspective of a female saniwa. The modern girl has crossed dimensions using a mystical spell and is cast into a feudal-style acropolis, where she is given the ability to anthropomorphize ancient swords, in order to ward off evil spirits and keep time from being permanently altered by magecraft-using revisionists. There is no romance in this story — it only exists as a cozy, slice-of-life fic.
＊ This is meant to be a fun fanfic exercise — so instead of my usual narrative restrictions, 1.5K ～ 3K words, this will vary from a few sentences to a few paragraphs per day.
8/31/2021 ～ At the tail-end of August is when I gathered these sheafs of parchment, ink is dribbling on the page like rain pattering down: drip, drip, drip. It is actually pretty misty this afternoon — my eyes wander out along the engawa, which now cradles a softly sleeping Hotarumaru. His back sighs breathelessly, it’s almost like staring at the back of a napping kitten!
Yoshiyuki chortled like the older brother I never had, this morning as he attempted to rouse me from my restful slumber. He told me that I twitched a lot in my sleep and then his boisterous laughter became sudden silence; he wore a thoughtful expression. The wooden floorboards creaked as he walked away… moments later, he returned with a steamy, clay cup.
“Be careful,” he advised me as I extended a weary hand out of a sheath of blankets; Yoshiyuki seemed concerned about whether I could properly drink tea without spilling it all over myself. I took a soft sip: it was chamomile tea with a spoonful of honey stirred in.
The gentle aroma tickled my nostrils. The fresh, herbal sapidity lingered on my tongue — it tasted almost as though my kind companion had ground up earth apple sprouts in a mortar. He would have had to been gardening at dawn! After he made sure that all was well and good, Yoshiyuki shyly sauntered away.
Today, I summoned a new stranger into our citadel — an Uchigatana with glasses, adorned in a snow-white waistcoat with a flapping blazer and wry smile, “I’m Kikkō Sadamune. What does my name mean, you may ask? Can’t a poor sword have a secret or two?” I replied simply with, “Do what you want, I don’t care about your secrets as long as you prove yourself to be useful to our ranks.” He smile was like a mask as he gave a curt bow, Kikkō then blended into the shadows of the hallway — and like a spider-lily with arachnid legs that tingle in the damp, dark — so too did this Sadamune-danshi absorb himself into the shadows.
That day, my calvary and I dispersed along the hamlet hills, the mountains were smeared in a thick, violet rouge. Hotarumaru leapt for joy after collecting his first rainbow hanafuda; unfortunately, after our sortie on the hillside, my callous call to action in Kamakura left Shishiō as an almost-broken blade. With my responsibility as their commander, I felt particularly guilty because recently Shi-san’s clear gray eyes had been alight at the sight of his first steed.
The black mare was given to us after we saved Kyoto from an army of historical revisionists, we were told that her name was Takadateguro. He had held the purple reins and jostled around his golden sidetail in exuberant glee. Takadateguro was rescued in Shishiō’s nearly-cracked state; upon hearing the news of his mare’s condition, the male sword heaved a sigh of relief as the mineral fissure in his arm was polished away by a faceless togishi.
There are many improvements that I can make as these boys’ leader, while I practice writing with an ink-brush pen, something that I unaccustomed to — being a trans-dimensional girl and all.