Quote Originally Posted by grampagen View Post
"It's a strange feeling starting from zero. That is the way all things begin, forged in the crucible of the naive mind."

The principle of Shoshin is manifest in the white of gi and belt. To truly understand something new, it must be engaged by a mind untethered to what had come before. The purity of the thing is not in its presentation, but in its understanding. Yet there were no markers here, no uniforms but the saffron robe of their host and the green of the memory-echo housed in the jade. Seasoned by battle and hardship, the three of them had their work cut out for them to recover what was lost.

"You want to do right by Balon and the history of the Dragons following in their every step with due diligence," he said, noting the snap of frustration mounting in Zaofan's movements. "The proper way, too, is a cage. Don't overthink it."



Ochazuke turned at the waist, casting a three-pronged finger strike forward, sinking his weight down at his core, his arm the coiling spring of the Dragon's maw.

The crucible of the naive mind burns all things away like slag from ingots, leaving behind the pure ideal, a thing to strive toward. Hearing Zaofan speak drew a short chuckle from him, the mirth in its weight opposed to the flatness of his expression focused in his execution.

"He was a champion for those who worshiped strength and bowed to the altar of might," Ochazuke replied. "He paved the path, but those who walked in his wake saw the place he went. They were just as complicit in propping up this image."

Resplendent as Turtle Island had been, Battersea's tournament was just a symptom of a rot that consumed it from within. Violence in the name of ego, so concerned with reputation and proving the smallest truth; by might alone, the worth to exist was proven. It was a thing that was driven into his very being there, on the cedar-board planks in the Grandmaster's dojo. The only objective for much of Ochazuke's life had simply been to win, no matter the cost. Behind closed doors he'd met many who would call themselves champions and would cast them down. Locked in the moment of violence, as legacies imparted to fists smashed into the flesh of the other, they'd sort out an unspoken understanding. Only the victor was worth anything.

"Battersea sat atop the tower. He didn't build it."



Still possessed of these thoughts, the teaching passed from another, the empty mind of action, and the little thread raking its silent drag in that remaining portion of his action. There was a little through-line through the generations, the inherited will from master to pupil, the strong to the hopeful, the now and the future.

Silently as he continued, he did not speak, yet would be remiss to ignore what Samson might say.
Samson nods.

“The rest will take weeks to decipher, but I have found one. Its located only about two hundred miles from here!” He says, excitement coloring his words.

“Shall we explore?”