[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     Kiyoshi walked with hands hooked into his collar, looking around at the Hoki no Kuni scenery, but listening intently. The Jashinists were - as far as he had known - fairly isolated and secretive. Yet he'd never cared much to look into them regardless - religions did not interest him. His worship of Bishamon and his scholarly interests were two separate things, and besides, Jashinists had had little impact on his primary focus - Kaze no Kuni.

     So - like most Gods - Jashin's essence, their 'bulk' or entirety was enclosed within this 'Grand Temple' as he labeled it in his mind. A shame he wouldn't be allowed to see it, but even a lesser cloister could still provide much to learn. He'd have to take into account the age of the architecture, though it could have been rebuilt. Perhaps a visit to the nation again, later, when he more time, would prove fruitful in determining their age.

     Utsuwa and their compatriots seemed to believe the same as most other religions, which Kiyoshi tended to view cynically. Each person had a sum of chakra - becoming a devotee meant giving a tithe, in return for something else. Gods were powerful beings, sure, but they were not - in his guess - the progenitors, in a strict sense. Bishamon merely had the right of it, for protecting Kaze no Kuni and his people.

     Kiyoshi nodded along, taking it in and not offering any rebuttal. "I see," he said as they came to the entrance of the courtyard. His eyes settled upon the circle-and-triangle iconography, scribbled it into his mind. "Wayward soul in need of education," he confirmed with a wave of his hand as he looked about.

Kyodai Utsuwa | 277 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

Utsuwa's eyes narrowed in naked delight.
"Indeed thou art," They had never taken the lead in an induction before. The notion excited and humbled Utsuwa in equal measure. Weak and unworthy as they were, they seldom exchanged more than a few words with those outside the cult. Few within it, truth be told.

Utsuwa led Ōshi deeper inside the humble temple, and the pair of them earned stares from the handful of the faithful present. They were mostly old, or crippled. Utsuwa was the only one both young and relatively whole. That stood to reason - those with the strength to serve directly were Inquisitors, not Prophets. At least typically.

The cloister was not large - there was a meeting hall and a dormitory, then a pair of smaller rooms to one side. It was to these that Utsuwa led Ōshi.

The room was dimly lit by a single, small window, and the door was made of iron bars. The wooden floor was full of scratches and divots, and stained a deep, dark red. Tools of dubious use - pliers, scissors, needles, knives, whips, hooks, and scourges - sat upon a pair of tables. The only other item of furniture was a stone stool, above which chains terminating in shackles hung.

"Prithee, bind thy hands. Thy soul and mind may be full willing, but thee shalt find that the body wilt reject Jashin-sama's truth. At least at first." Utsuwa stood and waited patiently, encouraging Ōshi with a smile.

[Chikamatsu Kiyoshi]

     As they walked the halls, his mind drifted. The exact nature of the gods had never been an area of interest for Kiyoshi - not because there wasn't discourse to digest, but because the answer seemed so simple. No explanation made sense other than them being forces of natures - created to counterbalance the Bijuu, something confirmed or at least hinted at in the scant few sources that dated back that far.

     Not that that discounted any of their blessings, or the validity of their sermons. But they were as immutable as the earth, the wind, the water. Gods were gods and men were men - the two rarely bled into one another. Much like the Bijuu, a god could never truly die - they would reappear at a later time, if dispersed widely.

     Kiyoshi came to a stop before entrance of the room, set a hand upon his hip and gazed about. The triangle-and-circle marking on the walls. Interesting. Looking around at the decorations and the architecture, he dated the place to a few hundred years. Perhaps between three hundred and eight hundred. Not old enough to have been built before the Warring Clans Period, but old in it's own right.

     Hardly as old as the main temple would be. He'd wager that'd be more like... Six and a half thousand, or six. Less if it was rebuilt, or not the true original. Might've been destroyed in a rampage, so - three, perhaps? He sat and looked at Utsuwa, raised his hands above his head. Though he accepted the shackles, he'd wrapped handseal-less barriers around his wrists - at a pull, they'd slip free. Regardless, common tools would find it difficult to pierce the barriers he had and would continue to erect and repair.

Kyodai Utsuwa | 289 words

[Kyodai Utsuwa]

It was surprising, but pleasantly so, to see how readily Ōshi was subjecting himself to this first session of training. Utsuwa had not been so willing, back when they bore another name. That person was long dead, now.

After ensuring the shackles were secure - utterly ignorant of the barriers erected - Utsuwa moved to the tools so carefully arranged. There were many to choose from, depending on what manner of suffering would be inflicted. For their part, Utsuwa preferred the simple tools. Piercing, incision, burning, and crushing. They lacked the skill for the whip, and cared not for methods that produced more fear than pain, such as waterboarding. And psychological methods were yet beyond their grasp. Perhaps their heart was still too kind to inflict every variety of pain upon the heathen.

"Shouldst thou wish for leather to bite down upon, I can provide that for thee. 'Yis not mybeish for thy teeth to shatter." Utsuwa's fingers passed over the poisons, and they shook their head. Too easy to misapply the dosage, and either do nothing, or kill unnecessarily. In the end, they took up familiar tools. A hooked, short scourge, a scalpel, and an iron brand bearing the symbol of Jashin. The brand was committed to the fire that illuminated the stone room dimly, and they approached the bound Kiyoshi. "I beg thy pardon," They said, before making to open the man's clothing. It would be simpler to have removed them before he was bound, but everything would be bloodstained tatters before long.

Impatient and hoping the preamble had built enough dread, Utsuwa then applied the scalpel, an attempted surgery to cause nothing but bleeding and pain, focusing on points where the nerves were most sensitive.