Katase
Blood.
The sword believed blood was the answer to her aimless wanderings. It was the spilling of blood, bound together with rusting chains of kinship, that had first created her. When she learned that a descendant of that line survived into the modern day it was a relatively simple matter to follow the screams within her steel and find her thus.
She met many strange people along the way. Some made themselves obstacles in her path; others helped her break them down. In the end the daughter of Muramasa found her next victim, and found her wanting. The seeking had become her purpose, not the slaying. The meager waif, the descendant of those responsible for her awakening, was nothing special. She was not even worth the effort to kill, smiling fool that she was.
Blood had solved nothing.
Katase Muramasa had no purpose. The people she met did not make a place for her, and so she had no home. She was left to wander once again, to seek satisfaction she knew not where. But Japan had become a dirty place to her, full of concrete and glass and a glaring absence of armed fools to provoke her and give her excuses to kill. It was not worth even wandering.
The sword found a place to rest for a time, to allow her worn-out human shell to fall into dust while her true form lay in repose. An old shrine, where an old man was willing to become the caretaker of a 'relic of the nation's history.' Perhaps another would find her in this time, seek to pick her up, and prove themselves worthy of her? Perhaps...
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Nexus - Chinatown
... she was not where she had been laid to rest. This place, though she had not eyes to see it or skin to feel it as human did, was more open and exposed to the elements. Were she a lesser blade she may worry about her sheathe rotting and leaving her vulnerable to rust. Still, this place was positively filthy.
Ugh.
This simply would not do. She dragged the now-familiar soul of her favorite form from the depths of her blade. With less used souls Katase would have to expend effort to do this, and to tunnel into the precious thing with tendrils of demonic energy she had harvested by skimming the surface of that deep reserve of power all souls produced over time. From there she could extract knowledge of everything that made the soul's mortal form be as it was. A convenient shortcut to bypass her own ignorance about the workings of the human form.
With this soul? There was no need. It was the basis of the first phantasm she ever created, the first body she ever extended herself into by holding her hilt in its hand. The tendrils of energy had well-worn paths to follow in this one, and it assumed shape from the bones outward in less than ten seconds. Katase held herself by sheathe and handle, and then carefully brought herself down to her bare hip with one hand.
... how inappropriate. She was naked without any clothing set aside! This will not do, she understood from years of observing what was considered 'normal' for a woman. So she focused a moment more and expended the small amount of power needed to create a replica of the outfit she wore most recently. It was a rather nice one, she was made to understand. The floral pattern was very feminine.
She remembered to breathe once she was clothed properly. She almost wished she hadn't. It just confirmed how utterly filthy this place was, full of the stench of frying foods and polluted air and... had someone urinated in this alley?!
Uuuugh.
The swordwoman left the alley quickly, only stopping when she escaped its stinky length. Now she was just on an unfamiliar street, surrounded by... were they Chinese? How strange. How did I end up here? Where is here?
So many questions to ask. So many people to kill. Or perhaps she should find a tea house, first? Oh, she could ask questions in a tea house and then kill them! Brilliant; the thought brought a smile to her face!
... she was getting ahead of herself. Her human shell let out a sigh, and shook her head. "Still, two out of three possibilities is quite good," she conceded to herself with a less intense smile stretching her mouth.
