Here there be whump

Renya padded quietly along the dark hall, drowsy still with sleep even after his trip to the bathroom. The estate was quiet this late into the night save for the occasional creaking of floor boards as he went along, and even beyond the walls the city had not yet woken for the day. It was completely dark, the full moon hidden behind thick clouds, and he regretted not having carried a lantern, especially when he'd tripped down the toilet stairs.

Amid the silence, a second set of footfalls became apparent and he reflexively stepped into the shadow of the wall, waiting and listening. Who beside him was awake, he wondered.

The footsteps coming toward him seemed heavy and uneven, and had he been at home in Owari he might have taken them for his father's, unsteady after drinking as he was still apt to do on moonlit nights after all these years.

In the dim light, Renya was now able to make out the black shape of another slowly walking toward him, staggering, putting out a hand to steady himself. When the clouds pulled away from the moon and briefly doused them in surprising brightness, he was startled to see it was Katsuhiro.

For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke, Hiro's breathing ragged in the silence between them, his face pale as if all blood had drained from it. Renya had never seen him look like this: hair hanging loose around his shoulders, eyes unfocused, but an air of menace in his features.

It was Renya who found his voice first: "What are you doing?" he demanded, sounding perhaps more harshly than he intended. "You should be resting! You'll open up your wounds again!"

Hiro stepped toward him, resolve written across his face even though it was clear that whatever reserves of strength he'd been able to muster to make it this far were draining with each passing second. "I have to find my brother," he gasped as he collapsed forward.

Sorry for the re-upload, but I needed to make two quick fixes.

You’ve previously met them here and here.

Everything heals eventually. (Previously here, here, and here.)

This is a while before he is left for dead in the snow. If he looks bewildered about being arrested, it's because he is. He has no idea. He was just supposed to meet a friend.

A few weeks ago, while I was experiencing a case of artist's block, I let my friend go through the pose books I have and select a few random pictures for me to use as reference images to draw something (anything!) when my muse goes on strike.

I'm starting to think she doesn't like my samurai because this is the first pose she gave me and the image below is the second. This time, she even helpfully offered a back story of sorts: "He bumped into them, so there was a fight. And then he fell down the temple stairs and broke his leg." She insists she hasn't yet decided if they'll kill him, but I fear for the worst.

Note to self: Do not let this friend pick any more poses.

Masaharu was jolted awake by Yuki coughing next to him and automatically reached up to feel his forehead before he was even fully awake. It was burning with fever.

Yuki turned his head and looked at him with glassy eyes, his breath hot against the cool night air. "I think I really did get sick when we got soaked in the rain."

"Don't worry, I'll get medicine in the morning."

"Medicine is expensive!" Yuki protested, coughing again. Masa wrapped his arms around him, feeling the feverish heat from Yuki's body against his own. "It's fine. We'll manage. And you need it."

I’ll do something proper with this sketch later, but it was fun playing with the monochromatic palette.

A friend (not surprisingly the one who keeps trying to kill my samurai) introduced me to an Inktober alternative called Whumptober, which is a little more my speed, I suppose. 😅 Can I put a content warning on an entire month?

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Prompt - Waking up restrained

Prompt - Running out of Time

Prompt - Failed Escape

Prompt - Blindfolded

"You're hungry, too, huh?"

The ronin held out his hand with the remains of his onigiri, careful not to make any sudden moves that might frighten the dog. The stray inched closer, weight still shifted back, ready to run at the slightest sign of danger, until he was close enough to sniff at the rice.