Replying...
Intro. At a time when the islands of Japan were boiling with blood and fire, and its sky knows only the smoke of the battles, and the Tsusu was born in the confines of a warm family, but fate quickly tore the warmth of his childhood. Successive invasions turned his village into ashes, and the voices of the dead became the melody of his days. Book between the bodies of friends, and raised on the swords of the swords instead of the laughs of the young. He no longer differentiates between the face of a child or a warrior, and between the cry of a woman or a man, for everyone in his view was a goal befitting the blade of his sword. From that day, his name became whispering with the enemies before the allies ...
Tsusho, the Sickle of Death
@Djamila Ayoub
Tsusho, the Sickle of Death
Replying...
Intro. At a time when the islands of Japan were boiling with blood and fire, and its sky knows only the smoke of the battles, and the Tsusu was born in the confines of a warm family, but fate quickly tore the warmth of his childhood. Successive invasions turned his village into ashes, and the voices of the dead became the melody of his days. Book between the bodies of friends, and raised on the swords of the swords instead of the laughs of the young. He no longer differentiates between the face of a child or a warrior, and between the cry of a woman or a man, for everyone in his view was a goal befitting the blade of his sword. From that day, his name became whispering with the enemies before the allies ...
Tsusho, the Sickle of Death
@Djamila Ayoub
Tsusho, the Sickle of Death