Shiren by A. Nonymus
TEAM: Solo Hero
KIT CLASS: Avatar
Hall Of Fame!
Survival - 10 wins!
League Wins: 10
League Losses: 2
Out Of League Wins: 0
Out of League Losses: 0
Total Wins: 10
Total Losses: 2
Anastasia Hawk - Win 12-11
Argent Smith - Win 14-6
Chip Chaos - Win 15-7
Ambience - Win 11-8
#141718: Hercules - Win 10-9
Gribbinwrech - Loss 10-15
Constantine - Win 16-13
Armstrong - Win 17-10
Dr. Mesmero - Win 17-9
Core - Win 17-11
Eye of the Storm - Win 14-12
Leslie Reed's Brother - Loss 12-15
Great-Grandfather died after ninety years of life when he requested of the shrine in the centre of Shiren to end the suffering that comes from old age. His mind was sharp and his body was able to do the work of a young man. But his hands pained him. His back had hunched over long before I was born. Great-Grandfather's knees, which carried both him and the clear water that came from the river (I had heard stories of other villages that had to boil their water in order to drink it and I am glad that I do not live there), cracked with every step. His family and his oldest friends always saw the grimace on his face when he walked. He confided to his wife and his daughter, Widow, in times when I could overhear, that his bowels even refused to give him the most basic of satisfaction in the latrine. Great-Grandfather welcomed the relief from pain that would come with death, but he was sad. He had hoped to end his life when he lived a full hundred years. He might have asked for a stronger will so that he may bear the agony of life for another decade but Shiren's powers have their limit, just as our faults limit our potential. And so, kneeling before the shrine, just a small simple statue of no value to us except as a focus for our praise of the village, Great-Grandfather sent out his last breath in a weary sigh and fell.
Personality: Great-Grandmother's brother, Mayor, took hold of the shrine and recited the story of how Great-Grandfather became a part of the village. Sometimes, we become part of the village at birth. Other times, a villager was born elsewhere and was blessed by Shiren to be seen in our eyes as family. "Let it be known that, seventy-three seasons ago, a man named Jason entered Shiren. He was reborn with us and became Xiun. I speak with Xinu's memories, granted by Shiren who preserves all our pasts, so listen well to my words."
| Weak BELOW normal human strength - |
can bench press 50 pounds (maybe).
|Weak BELOW normal human agility.|
Slow and uncoordinated.
|Ultimate Godlike endurance. |
Shrugs off damage which would destroy cities.
|Weak BELOW normal human mental power. |
Not the sharpest tack in the drawer.
"Tired soldiers were they all, who saw the deaths of their friends many times and caused the deaths of other people's friends even more. The paths, hidden by mud caused by the spring rains, tangled through the built places and the wilds alike so that no man knew where he was going. Shiren allowed them to come to us for the one known as Jason was among them. And so, fifty men emerged from the forests and into our farms. We will forgive them for what they did when they saw our rich fields and our ample stores. Battle was still in their minds and bloodlust consumed them. We pray that those who lived returned to their homes." We forgave and we prayed.
"We have always greeted strangers with our faces smiling and our hands empty. Shiren allows them to come for good reason and we have no right to question Shiren's will when it is Shiren's will that sustains us." Some nodded and others grunted that it was truth. "Our stores would have provided a feast as well as enough food to keep these men until they reached whatever lordship ruled them. We would still have had plenty and we might have shared even what we needed to keep off starvation. Jason was among them, after all, the one who Shiren invited. It is our way to give to a villager's friends what we would grant to the villager himself."
"But they chose to slaughter us. Their hunger was so great that they did not even spare the women so that they may be taken along or made use of at the village. There were some soldiers who looked upon the death and rebelled against their commander. Those men were executed. When the food was raided and the last foreign foot stepped out of our land, thirty-five warriors remained alive to continue their journey. Fourteen lay on the ground with their throats slashed or their skulls crushed until they were moved for disposal. Of the fifty, forty-nine were deemed unworthy of Shiren's grace. Jason was the One who was judged to be good. While the other dead soldiers still thought of their own desires, wishing for a woman to bed or a slave to beat, only Jason looked beyond that and saw our pain. His soul, though tarnished, knew what was good and what was evil and fought for good, though his life ended because of this."
"In the stillness of our dead village, a wind blew. You remember, little Mao, when your brother fell beneath the feet of our cattle." I blinked at having been acknowledged by name but eventually nodded. "Do you remember the gale that flowed over him, though no trees shook and no grass whispered. You felt its force. So it was with us. Our entrails and missing limbs were restored to our bodies. Our wounds were healed. The wind penetrated our lips and made us breathe again. We all were restored without memory of our deaths, though we knew that we had died. In our dreams, we wandered to our huts and houses and lay in our beds. And, sharing my sister's bed, no longer wearing his soldier's uniform stained with foreigners' blood, lay he who was known before as Jason. On the morning after our resurrection, they took each other and awoke entwined."
"It was guilt at our needless deaths that forced the soldiers to leave Shiren so quickly. Guilt made many strands thicker by the will of the village within their souls. So it was that the peak that woke our newest brother, also made many strands thicker, enticed him to stay with us and his new wife. A seed of a thought found itself in his mind then and grew and flourished as the day went on while we showed him the way that life flows in our village and how he might help the flow continue on. When the sun was setting, the thought flowered and escaped his lips as our common word, though he did not yet know what it meant. 'I am Xiun.'" Emotions that can not be explained in any tongue ripped through my body and the bodies of the other villagers. Together, we shouted out our own names. I said to the shrine, "I am Mao."