The Bodhran seemed like a simple instrument. It was a hoop of wood with a skin stretched over it and bound into place that could be played with the hand of a piece of bone or wood called a tipper. Were you to strike it in the centre with an open hand it made a deep sound, and a lot of peoples perception of this particular drum stopped there. These chose not to look past the simplicity of the design into the beautiful intricacies of the Bodhran, where the depths of the instrument come to light with someone who takes the time to understand it. If you place your hand behind the skin it changes the sound depending on where you strike in relative position to your hand. Striking the edges also creates a different sound, and different strikes with the tipper as well. With the Bodhran you can truly create beautiful sounds. It gives truth to the statement that one cannot judge a book by its cover. For something seemingly so simple to be so beautiful truly epitomizes that.

When Takayuri was a child his father taught him how to play the Bodhran. His mother would play the flute and his father and he would drum along with her. It had been explained to him that music was a universal language and that it was a great way to meet new people and make friends. Takayuri was always a kind boy, and he wished to have as many friends as he possibly could. His family was not wealthy, but they had everything they ever needed. They had enough food to get by in life, they had a house and beds to rest, and they had one another and their positive attitudes to carry them through. And the other, equally as important thing that they had, of course, was music. Long before he was ever taught to wield a spear, Takayuri had become an advanced player of the intricate instrument that his father had presented him with, and his hand eye coordination with striking the drum and the positioning of his hand behind the skin were fantastic. Later in life Takayuri would learn that his father was also taught to drum before he learned the spear, as it was a good way for him to learn the skills necessary to wield such a weapon.

It was funny how the two skills ended up correlating to one another. Takayuri watched as his tather wielded his red spear, Gáe Dearg, twirling it in his hands as though it was as light as the tipper he would normally strike the drum skin with. Each strike was delivered with grace, each thrust with precision accuracy and there was never any point that Takayuri had felt his father was out of control of the weapon. He watched the tip of that blade twirl until the sky turned black and red, smoke rising high above the village of Sunagakure. A man dressed in black with long black hair stood in front of his father, Takayuri saw his eyes. His left eye was emerald green and his right, scared where he had clearly once been struck by a weapon, was a pale green.

“No man can stand in the path of Justice. This village’s corruption runs deeper than you realize. Leave now and you will be spared.” The man’s voice was cold and a darkness rested upon his shoulders. Takayuri couldn’t quite see him but he was intimidated by his presence. His chakra was monsterous and the pressure he seemed to passively exert, and the heat, were overwhelming, but his father stood stalwart against him.

“Funny how they call you Saint, yet you stand here and take so many lives on this night. I cannot allow you to continue destroying my home, and the people in it. I will end you Sword Saint...” The man shook his head and Takayuri watched as his father brought his two spears to bare, facing off against the monster who wielded sword and whip. The heat radiating off of his body was stripping away his father’s flesh, and the batter was not as long as the young Takayuri would have expected, his father being bested by the masterful monster whos path he blocked. The man stepped over his father and moved along, Takayuri waiting until he was gone before rushing to his father’s side and holding him in his arms. He wasn’t sure how long he’d laid there, but at some point his mother collected him and told him they needed to leave, Takayuri taking the spears of his father into his hands...they were still so hot...


He awoke in a cold sweat. He had dreamed about that moment every single night since it had happened. His father had been his hero and his idol, and that man had taken him away from him without a second thought. Takayuri had heard tales of the Sword Saint, though generally portrayed as a great hero. He wondered how he had managed to fool so many...

He pushed the blankets off of his lean form, sweat making his muscular chest and abs glisten. The spears of his father were crossed upon his wall; Gáe Dearg, the Crimson Rose of Exorcism, which could render any chakra based technique, weapon or armour that it interacted with useless for the interaction, and Gáe Buidhe, the Yellow Rose of Mortality, which caused wounds that could never be healed unless the wielder willed it. His Bodhran rested below them, young Takayuri brushing a finger after the well worked skin that his father had helped him make when he was a child. He sighed and shook his head, running his fingers through his greasy hair and puling it out of his eyes before stepping into the shower...

His day was fairly free, and so when he was ready, his Sunagakure headband affixed around his neck and a fur trimmed coat used to cover him from the cool weather of his new village, hiding the armour that had been issued to him upon joining the village, he made his way out. His spears were fixed to his back and his drum hung from his hip as he made his way down towards the marketplace near the port of the village. It was one of his favourite places here to think, as it was the most stark contract to where he had come from that he could think of. The village of Sunagakure had no body of water around it, but here you could feel the spray of water splashing your face no matter where you stood. You could hear seagulls and the sounds of people moving cargo on and off of ships, as well as watching the ships come into port in the background. He found a spot where he could sit, watching as a group of shinobi dressed in Kirigakure garments worked nearby, pulling out his drum and tipper and gently running his hand over it as he sighed and began to play.

He watched not the drum, but the people, hoping to entice people to come and enjoy his music...

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