:!: Bushido :!:
What happened before: When Kihachi overhears robbers planning to destroy his village, he decides to go and search for samurai in the nearest town, were he finds two possible friends, so his companions and him split forces to meet both men at the same time. After a brisk meeting with the samurai they convince him. However, Kihachi goes to a gambler that proves to be evil, and when the Samurai tries to help, Motoko is taken hostage. People voted to do nothing. After a brief fight, Motoko is freed and the group gains money and a new companion. Bushido Just south of Kyoto, the Yodo river wound around a hill called Momoyama, and then flowed on through Yamashiro plain torwards the rampart of Osaka castle, some twenty miles farther to the southwest. Partly owing to this direct water link, each political ripple in Kyoto area produced immediate reactions in Osaka. It had been about ten years since Ieyashu had finally settled himself and finished his castle up in Edo and given his son Hidetada the power of the shogun, the fight between Hideyori in Osaka and the Tokugawas is now finally unleashed. Now the government seems to forget about expelling missionaries and other Europeans from Japan, and concentrates on attacking the Osaka castle. It is in these times that many ronin are hired by Daimyo's, but instead of their number being decreased, more seem to sprout out of nowhere, especially in small towns on the roads to Edo and Kyoto. It is also now when many thieves and bandits lash at small farm towns, stealing their valuable rice crops. Many wounded or dead Samurai are attacked by farmers and stripped from their armor and weapons, it is a civil war. But now of all times, there seems to be a sigh of relief coming from people. The war had been anticipated, for peace was never to last long, after Hideyoshi there was Nobunaga, and then Ieyashu, and now, well it was war again. But if now the Tokugawas won, it was certain that they would be able to maintain peace for the people again, this time for a long period, as they eventually did. A man stands by the shade, in the veranda of one of the many Zen temples in Kyoto, around the Gojo Avenue, near the ancient bridge. The temple is old, but it seems to have very deep foundations, and gives a sense of something ancient and powerful. The temple had originally been built for religious purposes, but now, a dojo had been constructed adjoining it. The man in the veranda seemed to be a samurai, shown by the two swords on his side. He had a small topknot, as was the samurai style and pride, and was wearing only a simple kimono. As Monako watched him from a distance, each time he searched deeper into the man, he seemed to discern some sort of power that shook him from every part of his body. The man in the veranda stayed seated in front of the door of the Zen temple linking to the dojo. Every time Monako had tried to get himself to go in the temple, the presence of the man made him uneasy and forebode him to come. He had tried to go around, but every time he started searching for another entrance, the man’s aura reached from where he was sitting, trying to warn him not to enter. Monako could sense that something amazing or threatening was going to happen. It wasn’t like what he sensed was a natural disaster, or a crisis that might affect Kyoto, or anything like that. It was as though something that he would be uncomfortable, or would have a great effect on him was going to happen. Being a skillful samurai himself (or at least that’s what he thought of himself like) he wasn’t necessarily scared of the man, but he could tell that if something that would affect him was to happen, it would be stupid to get himself involved by just walking into this mysterious man. Somehow, Monako’s thoughts were compelled to badness through some kind of strange judgment he, and many humans seem to have. It’s not that he was or would be drawn to badness although it is a compelling force, but if he were to be presented to a man, who he knew nothing of, and he is told nothing of, he would probably think of him as a bad man rather than a good man. So naturally, in this case, Monako sensed something, and not knowing anything about, he judged it to be a bad feeling. As he was waiting for the man to make a move or leave, he heard rustling from behind. He hadn’t detected the person’s presence until now, and it had gotten him unaware. Cursing to himself, he moved under the cover of some bushes to see who it was. After the encounter of the strange man at the veranda, he felt queasy, a feeling not very known to him. The hot sun of summer momentarily fled as he ducked under the bushes. After fleeing his fathers gambling house at a rustic town in the near proximity in Kyoto (only a two day’s walk) he had decided to come to the ex-capital to become a famous samurai. He had some contacts in Kyoto, and he had come with some five men who opposed his father, who were probably staying in their inn while he went out, or had gone to the geisha quarters, to have some fun. Apart from these few people he knew, and the limited visits he’s done to the place, it was an unknown city to him. He had decided that once he gained some fame, he would return to his father and take his gambling house. He had also decided to train at a dojo, and ask for a place he could be hired for a fair amount. When he had seen the man at the door to the dojo, and for the first time sensed his power, he thought about leaving to another dojo, but for some reason he was strangely attracted to the man. Now he watched what would happen. As it turned out, the man that was coming behind was a priest from the temple, who passed by and entered the temple, barely noticing the man, who he must have been used to. Monako decided to see if a ronin like him would come by, to see the reaction of the man. Soon a disciple of the dojo came and walked by the veranda, entering the dojo through another door. Then after fifteen minutes, a ronin in a short red Hakama searching for his way in, stumbled into the door. The man sat without doing anything. After this display, Monako gathered his courage and started over to the door, step by step, trying not to look at this strange man who had affected him so weirdly. _________________________________________________________ You stare at the orange flames in the middle of the room. You sit closer and start warming your hands. You look across through the fire. Two Samurai distorted by the fire sit there, eating their bowls of rice with pickles as they chat amiably, and randomly ask about the village layout and the houses, gates, etc, thinking of the best way to defend it. There are to be guests pretty soon. Your three companions have also huddled around the fire, rubbing their hands together. The samurai finish their meal. Ordinarily there would have been sake to drink, but you know that the money that the gambler gave you was for employing some of the ronin that are on their way to Kyoto or Osaka. But not this night, the two samurai had said. This night they would tell each other their real meaning to be here. For the past two days, you had quickly set up a stall stand with a sign that said with neat calligraphy, Hiring ronin to defend a village. More information here. Gaburo Sebuki.Gaburo Sebuki was the head shaven Samurai’s name. The other samurai was Sekuchiyo Numonde, as he had revealed. You think of all the samurai you’ve met, and you seem to see a glimpse of all the honor and glory it must pay to be a samurai. They seem so loyal and understanding, and also brave. You wish you were like that, and then you could leave the village with your wife, and set into the horizon, to serve some far off lord. You are suddenly grasped by the idea of becoming a samurai, but as you glimpse shyly at the two samurai, and then at your three companions, hopeful and cold, you realize that many others have probably had the same dream as you, but it would take to much to become one of those strange creatures you are watching so intently across the fire, and they were probably trained since children, apart from the fact that peasants can’t bear arms. Sadly you think of the events of yesterday and the early evening today. As soon as the advertising sign had been put up at each main crossroad of the small town, ronin of every kind had started pouring into the inn where Motoko led them to from the stand. You counted as many as twenty-five ronin in all, a pretty good number. Unfortunately, not many had turned out the way that was desired. At first, when Gaburo, head shaven and glistening in the sun had invited them into the room, which was only a barn that had been cleaned up and put a table and straw mattings in, all of them seemed worthy to your inexperienced eyes. The first man that had come in was a ronin with a regular topknot, hakama that stopped at his knees and a tasteful brown kimono for a man of his age, the two samurai swords hanging in his obi. He looked promising. The fool, when tempted by a bag full of silver and gold coins, could not resist, and, stuffing it hurriedly in his obi, took a last look, and walked out of the room looking as unsuspicious as he could. Or he would have, if Numonde hadn’t jumped from his hiding place, sword in hand, with you following on his tail, eager for a fight. The samurai, confronted by this, gulped, but resolved to draw his sword at Numonde's cold words. “Drop the money and leave, or die.” At least he wasn’t a coward. Not that that did him any good, for at the next moment, Numonde cracked his skull in a flash with his wooden oak sword. You hadn’t even seen the man draw his sword, but you pushed this thought away, thinking that you hadn’t watched carefully. More men came in, but all met the same fate, either that, or they complained that the mission was too hard, the pay wasn’t sufficient, or Numonde and Gaburo thought they hadn’t enough skill or spirit. You didn’t understand anything about the Way of the Sword, or anything like that that they talked about, and you kept out of it. Then finally, on the second day, a man with a dirty kimono and wildly unkept hair, but with great sturdiness and a big body, entered our small barn. When Gaburo released the trap, the man didn’t budge. In fact, he tried to evade looking at the money all the time. Then Gaburo saw the money there, and asked if the man could show his skill. “Sir, I would like to inform you of our job. We are asking your undying loyalty until this is over, and you will most probably die. You will probably also be outnumbered ten to one, and will gain no glory or fame. With these warnings I ask you, do you want to seek this job any further?” The man answered curtly. “I would indeed like to, but please, could you tell your friends that they can stop hiding? I won’t hurt them.” You stare in amazement at the man. He hadn’t even looked once at us, yet he had somehow sensed we were there. Numonde stood up and moved away from the pile of logs in the dark corner he had been hiding in. He didn’t seem as astonished as you, but you could se he had some respect for the man. “Sir, I am sorry,” he said “We were testing you, to see if you would steal anything. I am truly sorry that we had to go through this, but it is a safe procedure.” “It’s all right.” Nodded the man. “ I had figured as much” “I’m sorry to ask you this, but, could you show us a test of your skill. We will fight with wooden swords.” “Very well.” The man said “By the way,” asked Numonde casually, as he got the sword for the man, “What is your name?” “My name is Sakiro, and my last name is Yagyu.” Just as the name is mentioned, the two samurai give a small gasp, and bow their heads to the ground. You follow their example, even as the Samurai laughs and bids the other two to stand. You however, don’t move. Yagyu is the name of the most famous Daimyo’s in the whole country, and they have been the teachers of the shogun in the martial arts for some years now. Suddenly, the man notices you. You bow even lower, which seems impossible. Your back starts hurting though. “And who is this?” He asked. “This is Kihachi, my lord, he’s a peasant from the village we are trying to save.” said Gaburo, rubbing his naked head. “Hmmm. Why don’t you tell him to leave for a moment, we have things to discuss.” “Yes, sir” You answer, trying to sound enlightened but humble, but far from your purpose, you end up sounding like the croaking of a frog. You spy Rikara on his way back from buying rice, and run over to him. Later in the day, Obakamonoyo had told you a great samurai had come, and when tempted with money, he had gotten very angry, and had gone almost as far to challenge Gaburo. But everything had been explained and Gaburo openly apologized, so the man sullenly agreed to come to the meeting that night. _________________________________________________________ Nagami Hosaka had been sitting in the veranda next to the Zen temple for almost the whole morning. He had been meditating. Nagami was a well known samurai in the Osaka region. He had studied under Itto Ittosai, the famous but now deceased samurai, discovering the secrets of the Chujo style. He had always thought about the Way of the sword as skill and strength, or he had, until he met Priest Shisohojo. He now understood that the way of the swords spirit was more peaceful and wise. Since his meeting with Shisohojo, he had started to understand the meaning of being one with the universe. It had been eight years since that chance meeting in Kushu highway. He could feel that he would soon achieve his innermost peace. Sometimes he spent days at a time sitting, thinking of himself as another entity. He was in his early forty’s, and he had been trained as a samurai since his tenth birthday. Always, they had told him that he must find his innermost spirit to become in control of himself. It was one of the first steps of the Way of the Sword. The last step was to find the innermost spirit of your opponent, and to learn to control it and bend it to your will. He had set out in his early twenty’s from his home to study for the moment he would wait for his entire life. He wasn’t a master himself, but many people would consider him as one, his imposing figure and calm disposition spoke as a benefactor of that idea. He had noticed the young man on one side of the path leading to the temple. He had seen him while deep in concentration, for awareness was at least a technique he had mastered. With his eyes closed, he had seen him come even before he had sat and lit a small fire near a cluster of small bushes. He had detected the potential in him, and the young samurai had also seemed to notice his aura, unlike the unskillful ronin who had almost crashed into him before tripping and falling through the doorway there before. That the young samurai had noticed was a good thing. The young man had watched to see what the reaction was when the other people had walked in. Good, at least he was not totally a rash youth. Nagami had shown no emotion what so ever when the people passed. Now the young man was approaching. He decided to quit his meditation for today. The young man walked through the open veranda door. Without looking up Nagami spoke. “The Way of the Sword must have both a combination of strength as well as spirit to be effective.” “Wh-what was that?” said Monako. “The problem is, your spirit and your strength do not match, they are unequally scattered. Your skill is great, but your mind does not seem to respond as well, for it has not been trained to.” “Why, who would you be to tell me anything?” Nagami did not answer, and his head still did not leave its position to look at the man. “So you tell me that I am a unprepared for being a samurai, and then you won’t even give me your name?” “You do not need to know my name.” “Why-why, you! So I am too lowly for you to tell me your name?” Monako’s precautions took to the air, and he drew his sword. “Don’t even try; it would be a waste of your life.” Monako growled and raised his sword “If you won’t fight me, then I’ll slay you like a dog” The aging man opened his eyes. Suddenly Monako felt like the eyes were drawing him in, making him succumb to their will. He felt like if the man besides him were about to pull his sword out and slash him. Reflexibly, he jumped back three steps. As he saw what the man had done, he realized that their spirit had matched, and his much less disciplined spirit had only survived by dodging. He also realized that if the man had wanted to, he would have killed him. As realization set in, he bowed down to the floor, dropping his sword. “You must let me be your disciple.” He said, without even asking the man’s name. He sensed deep wisdom inside him, and he wished to understand it better. Nagami didn’t answer; he just stared at the floor. Monako kept his head bowed. Soon as evening set in, a priest spotted two men in the veranda, although not for the first time. Strange, he thought, they haven’t moved all evening. ______________________________________________________ You yawn. It seems about time for the guests to arrive. The third man to come in was friendly in appearance, and very neat. He had a young boy of about fourteen or fifteen walking with him. As he entered he shouted so loudly that the ceiling shook. “Gaburo Sebuki!” A dawn of recognition lighted on Gaburo’s face. “Jabiko!” The two long lost friends embraced each other. You watch curiously at the two men greet each other. They spent some time talking and reviewing their life since the battle they had fought at Sekigahara together, and then they had promised to meet each other this night, with the young Yagyu, since Jabiko and his disciple had to go to the sword polisher. Now it was night time, and the sky bristled with stars. You pick up some leaves crunching outside amid the spontaneous laughter of Obakamonoyo, who silently shuts up as you put your finger to your lips. The samurai’s attention is drawn. Not that these guys would miss anything, their always watching, even when their not looking, you think inwardly. A knock on the door. “Come in!” The lively face of Jabiko, with his helper, walk in through the door. Well, not only his face, but the rest of his body too. And it’s big! His merriness had made you forget about the man’s appearance that afternoon, but now that you saw him again, you saw he was a bulky man, maybe not rolling in the belly, but he had a certain mass that would be considered above average. He had wide shoulders, and a ready smile. “Sit down, please; we are waiting for two more guests.” “Well, I brought some sake, just for the occasion!” Soon the men were drinking and growing merrier, but none of them really lost their heads. Jabiko’s disciple sat next to the men, as one of them, but he seemed very well disciplined, or at least to you, sitting on the other side with your companions. After a while, there was a second knock on the door, and the young Yagyu came in. A gust of cold swept the room, and the fire flickered. Warm greetings were exchanged, and Sakiro Yagyu sits down. Sake is heated and passed around. After more than half an hour wait from the appointed time, the third man started to dissolve from their minds. Finally, the men start talking about the mission again, but that just led to telling their stories, of why they were there. After some discussion, they agree that Lord Yagyu should start. With a grave face, he took a last drink, and commenced his tale. “It all started some twenty years ago, with a barfly. It wavered around in a small inn in the road of Ome-Kaido, attracted to the light of a candle light. It was a busy day for road traveling. The inn was fully occupied, with servants going to and fro. A man sat at a table with his retinues. He wore a large basket hat covering his face. His men tried to appear like normal travelers, but their noble stance gave them away. A pretty maid was walking around in a beatiful kimono, serving sake and food rations. Perhaps the man with the retinue wouldn’t have noticed her between the other servants, but just then, the barfly landed on the table. The man waved it away, but it landed on the table again. He tried to catch the insect, but it kept landing on the table. Finally, exasperated, he gave up, and the fly walked around joyfully in the table. Either it was that the fly was over-confident, or the man was too fast, but whatever the reason, suddenly one of the men in the retinue snapped his chopsticks and tapped them quickly on the table, squashing the fly smartly. The maid, passing by, gasped in astonishment at such a feat of skill. Looking up, the man in the big straw hat noticed her. He liked what he saw. His eyes sparkled, and his face lightened. Do I need to tell the rest? The drinking into long hours of the night? The coaxing and promising? The next day, the man, Lord Yagyu, left through the front door, forgetting completely about everything that had happened. He left the maid in the barn. He left my young mother pregnant. My first years growing up were as normal as any others. But soon, one day, when fighting some local boys for insulting my mother, who I was very defensive of, she saw, and told me to come over as the boys ran away. She then told me of what had happened that day long ago. I was about twelve when she told me. She related to me how the man was of noble bearing, the most powerful lord in the country, apart from the shogun, Lord Yagyu Munemori. That day, as I thought about it, I decided I would become a samurai, and serve under my father, showing him I was worthy of being his son. At once, I coaxed the owner of the inn to buy me a wooden sword I could use to practice. I practiced indeed, for six years, every morning after I finished some chores; until I dropped exhausted to the pile of hair I called my bed. When I was eighteen, I set to the Yagyu fief nearby, where I knew my father was residing before going back to the Shogun’s castle in Edo, to serve as his teacher. When I got there, the guards of the palace greeted me with the blunt end of their lance. I would have killed them, but I didn’t want to create any problems, especially for my father. After two days, however, I decided I had to get in, no matter what happened. Besides, I knew my father would recognize me as his true son. That same night, I climbed the high wall, and then jumped down from the top. In my foolishness, I twisted my ankle, but I ignored the pain, and dragged my foot behind. Finally, I made it unaware to my father’s residence, and called to the people inside. The door slid open, and I looked inside. There were many people, looking curiously outside; it seemed that there were guests. An old man asked me what I wanted, and I demanded to see my father. The man looked surprised, and he looked at me like the country-boy I was. I said it again, and told him that my father’s name was Yagyu Munemori. The man laughed, but I pushed him away and strode into the room boldly, my ankle thudding with pain. A few women gasped, and some men gave me hard looks, ready to draw their swords. Then a man asked me calmly who I said my father was. I told him again, but this time I mentioned my mother. The man looked at me. I stared back. Finally, he spoke. He told me that he was Yagyu Munemori, and that he remembered something he had done in his rash youth. Then he gave me a chance. He said that if I defeated him in combat, then I could really be his son, then I would be skillful enough to be worthy. Until then, I would not be welcomed to the house of Yagyu. Then he got up abruptly, and told his servants to take care of my ankle until I was ready to fight. I let myself be carried away as the man departed out of another sliding door. Soon after, as my ankle was fully healed, a servant came to my bed and told me the bout was to be held that day. I got up and sharpened my moves. Soon after, I went to the dojo inside the castle grounds and waited for my father to come. He came alone, without anyone. Only a student sat on the tatami. I picked up my wooden sword as he did likewise. I faced my oponent, and tried to clear my mind. I had been planning on using a parry, dodge to side, and then stab straight forward attack I had made up. I inched forward, my sword extended at eye level. I looked at my father. His face was calm and confident. Suddenly, he stepped forward, striking forward without shifting his sword. I parried according to my plan, and then quickly stepped to the side. A sword whacked me in the face, sending me back, and I instinctively dropped my sword to cover my bleeding nose. It was almost although my father had predicted it all along. He clutched his sword and told me to get out before he killed me. I grabbed my sword and ran, as far as I could, and then I cried, but soon I determined that I would become a great swordsman and defeat my father, so that I could become his son. Since then, four years have passed, and I am still on my quest to attain superior skill. I give myself the name Yagyu only to those to who I can trust, although I’m not a Yagyu yet. But enough about me, I must bore you with my story, tell me about yourselves.” “Well, I must admit, sad stories aren’t my favorite type, especially on a night like this.” said Jabiko, his face visibly getting redder and redder by the minute. “I can tell my story next, and some of Jabiko’s, too.” Gaburo smiled “Those were good times. Both of our fathers served under lord Date, in the north, and we were good friends since we were small. My brother was our good friend then, too bad he had to turn the way he did.” He started rubbing his bald head again. “What happened to him?” Asked Jabiko “I’ll tell you later. Actually, I just finished that business two days ago. But back to the story. As we grew of age, the war with the west came, and we were undecided by what to do, and then I….” “Yes, soon, Gaburo developed strange tastes. He told me about something called honor, and battles. However, I said I liked sake better!” Jabiko said. The samurai burst into laughter, and Numonde passed another jar of sake around. “You could say we are veterans from Sekigahara, fighting under the eastern banner. After the battle, we split and went our own ways. Jabiko became a part of Lord Date’s retinue, but I left to perfection my skill as a ronin.” The samurai laugh some more, and your companions sit pensive about young Yagyu’s dilemma. “However, I am now wandering around with my disciple to search for someone my lord needs to see, but I guess I could help you.” “I myself do not feel like committing myself in this war to Osaka or the Edo factions, it’s too risky, and…” Gaburo’s voice drifts off as you walk outside into the fresh air. You look in the direction of the fire before deciding to take a brisk walk and clear your mind about the young Yagyu’s story. You walk along the now- deserted streets, searching for a small well or spring to drink out of. Munemori Yagyu seems like a great lord. Normally, any other one would have ordered and illegitimate son murdered, hanged, or would outright refuse any thing to do with them. Why would Munemori ever decide to say that? Maybe he was confident that he would always be the victor. As you think about this, you spot a well, and you start pulling on the rope to draw the bucket out. Finally, the refreshing taste of the cold water soothes your thirst, but you lament it at once, as your teeth feel the sting of their sensitivity to cold. You're hopping around like this, covering your mouth until the pain passes in a few seconds, when you hear the swift clatter of swords and man moan a short way off, followed by a female scream and the shuffling of straw sandals. You dash into the alleyway where the noise came from, catching a glimpse two shadows struggling in each others grasp as they disappear around the corner. One of the figures seemed to be a woman’s. You look around, and find a dead man lying against the wall. A quick search reveals that he is still alive. You stay on your knees, your eyes shifting everywhere, a sense of danger beating up from your heart into your mind. The man sputters. “ Wa…wa..waa…ter” You get up to get him some water, but he shakes his head. “Nevermi..*cough*…nevermind. Ta…ke m..m..mmy swords, aaa..nd res..cue the gii..rl tha…* cough* ovee..r there.” You nodd nervously. “Hee..y, waa..iiit, you’re a..a…a peasant, aren…t you? It…doesn’t, maa..ter, but, but…but” Then his eyelids close, and he dies, an uncertain look on his face to accompany him to wherever he went. You carefully slide the two swords in their scabbards out of the man’s obi. But then you grow doubtful yourself. Shouldn’t you get someone else? You run to the corner and peek out. There’s nobody there. You return to the corpse, the swords half way out of their old master’s reach. If you take the swords, you cold make it in time and rescue the girl. But how do you know you can win? And besides, what will happen if someone sees you, a peasant carrying arms? That’s illegal. You’re sure that if you explain it was for a good cause they’d let you go, but maybe not. And besides, how do you even know it’s for a good cause? And what will the villagers and the samurai think? You feel this is a crucial point. Who do you own your alliance to, peasants or samurai? The sword seems to loom closer to you, like it were slithering away from the dead corpse, and uniting itself with its new master….. |
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[color=brown]ahhhh finished finally. well done its excellent alothough i found all the japanese names very very confusing, im a ukrainian im built for names like yushchenko, yanukovixh kuchma and anything ending with enko. i think the best choice ius to take one sword and rescue the girl, never mind about what people will think you must honour the dead mans request and the honorable choice would be so safe the girl
great read a few words misspelt but thats unimportant, i can see the work you've put into it and i think its really turned out well congradulations [/colour] |
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