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Luna-Tic	By : Atomica_Syndrome Category: +S through Z > Samurai Jack Views: 2213 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Samurai Jack, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Luna-Tic
Chapter 1: The Ruling Wild

Wandering Thought: Yo, everyone. This is my first SJ fanfic, so bear with me and please comment on your views of it once you’ve finished reading. Criticisms are very welcome.
Disclaimer: There is no way I own SJ. However, I do own the places, as well as some of the characters.
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Very little is known about the lands of Daggara, an almost hostile remnant of the lost lands that used to be free from the rule of smaller, destructive forces. It was a lonely domain of rolling green hills, crowned with the tall mountains and covered with the dark forests of hardy oak. Whatever time of the day, whether the sky was shining with the summer colors of cornflower blue, dominated by the bright yellow star, the inside of the forests are always dark, the trees cutting off any kind of light, forever inhabited with shadows of every form. Now, the mists were gently sloping across the fertile foliage, the autumn air still yet coldly numb, and the night sky as dark as what goes on in the forests.
Most people believed that life begins from the warmth of light, but in this case, it was not so. In nights like these, the cycle of life continues to spin. Many of the insects that inhabit there were nocturnal, their beings actively singing their bizarre music under the dark skies, while some others continued to weave gossamer webs. Animals such as wolves prowled in packs, their eerie chorus seeming to reverberate across the area, as a lone owl watches over the foliage, its golden eyes glaring down at its hiding prey.
Somehow, in this alien place, human civilization was able to live in its shadows.
Nestled in a large clearing within the forest, the crude buildings settled well away from the tall trees. The architecture was low, made of a sturdy exoskeleton of thick wood, while others were made of mud and hay, their windows alive with the soft lights that glimmered inside.
In addition, this small shred of humanity is not a sleepy town, especially at this time of the night. The main place where it encases a surprising amount of liveliness stands in the middle of the clutter of buildings, a place of intoxication.
A small wooden sign was suspended on the front of the thick doors, swinging back and forth with the wind, bearing the crudely written name of the place: The Corrupt Flagon.
Inside the building, the hall was dark with few lit torches and very few windows, casting dark hazy shadows in certain corners of the room, hiding the filth that sat on the hay-strewn floor. However, the room was alive with people. People of many backgrounds crowded around each of the tables, slamming down drinks, chewing on foodstuffs, gambling and buzzing with talk. Sour-faced women lounged around with the hard-bitten men, pouring alcohol and screaming in laughter whenever something humorous arises in the air.
However, there were more noises that rang through the air of the inn.
“Hit me!” Screamed a grown man, spraying crumbs of food everywhere, his eyes wild and feral. “Hit me with all you got!” He demanded; he, a hunter, was standing on one of the round grimy tables, bearing his thick chest at his companions, who hooted drunkenly with amusement.
Standing a few feet away from him stood a young woman. The only thing that separated her from the hardened women that looked on, were her garments were only fit for solitary survival. Dried scalps and badly preserved furs hung proudly on her belt, and instead of wearing a brightly colored skirt, she wore a pair of jeans exclusive to those doing grunt work.
Nevertheless, somehow she did not seem out of place with her hairy friends, her face contorted with laughter and flushed red from alcohol and physical stimulation.
Swaying uneasily on her booted feet, she laughed hysterically and produced a small army knife, an antique of better times, and gripped tightly on its metal hilt. With a visible effort, she steadied her movements, and took aim, her good eye narrowing at her target.
With a swift, experienced ease, she threw her knife at the man, the knife spiraling in mid-air, meeting the man’s chest at its sharp edge. However, against expectation, it bounced off in its contact. Like something out of rubber material, it ricocheted off to a different angle, hitting the floor hard and skidding across the hay.
The crowd roared in approval, as the man proudly beat his chest with his fists, gorilla-style, showing off his product with zeal. What had protected him from the knife was a big, fur coat of light brown, ratty and still filthy from its previous owner, yet bloodstained from the recent act of skinning.
This was a wild and primitive world, where the natives that inhabit within it were often driven by their selfish desires, desperate and trying to survive in this savage world.
This was also a world, in which Jack was a foreigner to. Trained in the ancient code of bushido and reared in the world of oriental civilization, Jack the samurai did not join in to the celebration. Truthfully, he himself felt uncomfortable, being in the midst of these wild people. It wasn’t his first time being amongst them either, sitting in the far corner, and warily watching the commotion before him.
He seemed completely out of place. Unlike these ruffians, he was clean-shaven, dressed plainly in a gray and white robe, his features half-hidden underneath his straw hat. Despite of the dim light of the room, he wore it anyway, using it as a crude form of a mask, forbidding anyone to read his expressions. Stepping on the wrong foot in this environment can almost inevitably lead to trouble, and to stir up such a thing was the last thing he wanted to do.
He wanted to get out, the stench of bodily odors and trash was overpowering, and the wild activities performed by the people made him uneasy. However, his discipline and hopefulness forced him to stay where he was, try to make himself comfortable, and wait.
Sitting rigidly on an unstable stool, he watched the performance before him with interest, for it seemed more like an advertisement of the fur itself. He found himself interested in the origin of the cloak; it did look durable, so what kind of creature could have owned such a thing, and how did these rowdy men obtain it?
“Strange one!”
Jack turned towards the source of the outburst, and saw whom he was waiting for. Sweaty and red in the face, a plump middle-aged man waddled towards him, immaculately dressed in clothes of rare furs and velvet, his pudgy fingers clutching on a roll of paper.
Suddenly, an eager feeling of hope swelled in him, and he wasted no time in standing up and greeting the rich man. He did so with a small, yet comforting smile, and waited patiently as the man stopped to catch his breath.
Between gulps of air, the man finally said, “ I bring what you asked for, Stranger.”
“The map?” Jack asked, finding the situation blissfully easy.
“Aye! But I’m afraid this item comes for a price, y’see. Very expensive and rare thing it is…”
“I’ve already paid you.” Jack stated testily, his slanted dark eyes narrowing suspiciously at the man.
“True, true.” The man admitted, drawing the map away from Jack, “But that was to convince me to look for it, for I’m a very busy and active man. To have me to drop everything to do as you asked, well…I needed something to compensate for my lost time. Nevertheless, the price for this map is high.”
“Four gold pieces should be enough.” Jack said, folding his arms, his hands reaching inside his wide sleeves.
“Five pieces.” Jumped the bargainer, his gray teeth grinning zealously.
“Four pieces is all I have.” Jack replied tonelessly, but his fingers felt more than that within the hidden pockets of his sleeves. In response, the wealthy man’s smile faltered for a moment, and once more, the map was placed back against its master’s heaving chest.
“Apologies, in that case, I’m afraid I can hardly agree with the price you demand.”
Jack feigned disappointment, and sighed. Reluctantly, he turned away from him, hanging his head low. “I’m sorry to waste your time.” He concluded solemnly, and started to step towards the exit.
“Although!” The bargainer continued, his voice bombastic; and yet there was a hint of desperation in his voice. “We can work something out, Stranger! Four coins are all you have, yes?”
“All I have in the world…” Jack replied, keeping his voice soft.
Raising his bushy gray eyebrows, he smiled kind-heartedly at the samurai.
“I’m feeling generous, stranger. It’s not everyday that this town receives visitors, especially the needy. I’ll drop the price to a more suitable one—four gold coins will not be a problem?”
Jack breathed out a sigh of relief, and formed his face into an expression, a look of a victim looking up to his benevolent rescuer.
He quickly fished out the four gold coins, plain, as they seem, they were definitely the real things. These landed on the open palm of the old man, and the map was dropped to Jack’s own.
“Pleasure to be doing business with you!” The fat man crowed, and he quickly faded into the crowd, leaving the samurai to himself, a satisfied smile growing in his face. Unable to contain his curiosity, he undid the rubber band that tied the map together, and unraveled it. His smile broadened as he was greeted with a detailed drawing of Daggara, the inked trails that snaked across the forbidden forest, had stopped at the cluster of mountains above. The label was significant to him, formed in sharp, capital letters:
The Hontz Mountains.
It was a name that should strike a feeling of dread to anyone, Jack was of no exception, but the need to explore and finish his quest was stronger.
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“Rum, rum, rum! Rum, rum, rum!
In and out! In and out, Ho~!”

Rue Thanamorn sang along with the tune, her slurred; yet blaring voice playing along with the feeling of silly merriness in the vicinity. Perched on the wooden tables, she sat alongside her companions and neighbors, swinging their clay cups of grog as they howled and roared the drinking song. However, despite the inward feeling of intoxication, Rue was high with happiness to see another night alive. As a member of the town’s organization of hunters, every moment in the woods was a life-threatening event, but nights like this always made up for the dangers. It was like coming home as heroes from a victorious battle. In some ways, such a description is similar, for they are under a constant war with nature, and therefore Rue and her band were naught but crude and undisciplined soldiers.
Sloshing the beer all over her thick tank top, she took a break from singing and slurped the last remains of the drink, her throat feeling parched already. A couple of the drunks on the table had already tossed the contents of their stomachs on the floor, and this added to the comical, if disgusting, air to the place. Rue had to quickly gulp down her drink before bursting into hysterical laughter, conforming to the raucous created by the witnesses. However, the amusement had quickly died out, as Valkag emerged into the scene. The wealthy innkeeper was one of the few influential men of the whole town, dressed in his usual regalia of expensive cloth, his fingers glittering with rings of precious metals and stones. However, he was far from contentment, his sweaty pig-like face was in a color of crimson. Valkag stopped right in front of the mess the drunkards had made, his foot frozen and hovering over the puddles of vomit. The laughter gradually died, as he was noticed by more of his customers. The man himself shuffled away from the mess, and glared up at the folk before him.
“Who did this?!” He screeched shrilly, “Somebody has to pay to clean this! I’ll have your houses burned down if this gunk stays!”
Silence fell on the partygoers like a thick cloak, and several climbed down from the table, their fingers already worming their ways into their purses. Not even waiting for a response, Valkag sauntered towards the hunters, recognizable by the scars and furs that enveloped them.
“I have another task for ye.” Whispered the innkeeper, his crooked finger beaconing the four hunters closer to him. Obeying to his will, they grudgingly bowed down to him, their faces close to his own. Rue went along with it, even though the movement of her head sent the room spinning, it felt like her brain had just rattled in her skull. Squinting, she stared ahead at Valkag’s rosy face, but instead of continuing his speech, he produced a thick card cased in hot plastic. It was an electronic leaflet, and in its hologram image, it bore the scowling face of a foreign man. Underneath the mug shot, the words showed in bright, attention grabbing letters, although dark and foreboding in meaning.
It was a wanted leaflet, an advertisement for the body of his criminal, with a promise of a handsome sum of money in return.

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Wandering Thought: Hm, there is still more to come in my mind’s eye, although it would be helpful if somebody would tell me if the story’s any good so far. I suppose Jack’s deceit on the innkeeper may be a bit uncharacteristic, for he is usually an honest man, but then again, Jack is not stupid either.
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