Yoshitsugu’s eyes had to leave the ear-like hair tufts when the man stepped forth to display his blade.
“You are?” He echoed, though he was sure he had heard correctly. The name of the sword and the legend of its creation rang his memory, but it’d all seemed too bizarre. “Named after the sword then?” Given how old the blade had rumoured to be, it was a plausible assumption. More plausible than the truth.
“Don’t worry, Kogitsunemaru-san. I forget who I am all of the time.” It was of course a self serving joke, but delivered in such a way that only a close friend might notice.
He can’t help but be amused by the confusion — yes, he supposes they all are named after their swords, in a manner of speaking. He has no intention of leaving the man mistake, though, and he moves to replace the blade at his side, one of said furry tufts giving the slightest twitch...
“I don’t mean to complicate things, Yoshitsugu-san. I meant what was said: I am Kogitsunemaru, as is the sword at my side,” emphasized with a hand draped over its handle, a gentle pat to its buttcap. “Though my presence here has no specific purpose, I was made to serve, whoever my master is or will be.”
Perhaps it is deceitful, masquerading as some human, though it isn’t as if he, or any of them, were given a choice. Their lives – his life – is hardly different from that of any other servant... with a few stipulations here and there. The fox cocks his head to the side, lips pursed in a hum.
“Some refer to us as tsukumogami. It is... accurate enough, I suppose.” He’s careful in drawing his blade, slow, to demonstrate his lack of aggression; he presents it once more, turns it, until the signature engraved in him catches the light. “You understand, Yoshitsugu-san?”
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