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Warlord Yousuke Harada

Daimyo doesn't even begin to cover it

0 · 131 views · located in Japan- Sengoki era

a character in “Ways of the Samurai: Journey”, originally authored by Skittle_Overlord, as played by RolePlayGateway


ImageHe came like a storm, his small army more effective than any larger one. Each person in it special in their own way and renowned for bloodshed. Some of them do not seem human, but then again neither does he. He who stands at a height of six feet and seven inches, with a hulking mass of muscles to fill him out.

Most of his subordinates share the same vision of conquest he does, and others just accept that he is their superior and that it would be wiser to fight with him rather than against him. Two years ago he claimed his home and from there he has been quiet, his province bellow left wondering from day to day whether or not he will stay or continue on. But in his room he lingers, thinking and reading and biding his time, but for what? He desires to conquer he says, but his activity has been stagnant. What are his plans? A few know that he has the beings of myth under his thumb and they have begun to wonder. Is he a myth too? Perhaps he is only part myth. Or maybe he is simply human and in over his head. But it does not matter what the others wonder, only he and his vision matter, his grand puzzle that he must complete. Whatever it is that he is headed towards he believes it to be his destiny.

So begins...

Warlord Yousuke Harada's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kurosawa Tsubaki Character Portrait: Warlord Yousuke Harada Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait: Character Portrait:
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#, as written by Ion


Another day, another pointless exercise in the futility of struggle. And yet here she was, prepared to struggle all the same. She blamed him, and his seemingly perennial ability to convince her of things she knew to be false. But believe him she did, and she knew without having to ask that he would fight his fate, would fight this damnable man that held her in chains, tooth and claw… though perhaps not literally. That option was closed to her for the moment, and everyone involved was well aware of this. Her power was to be exercised at his leisure, and in the meantime, she was reduced to what this frail human-shape could do for her.

It was nothing, she was nothing, compared to what she could be in the full glory of her existence, and this rankled her. The warlord knew that too, and she suspected it amused him.

Tsubaki’s nostrils flared just slightly, the only sign of her discomfort, and a muscle in her jaw ticked. The shinobi that had taken her in, so long ago now, had advocated daily meditations as a way to begin one’s tasks with a clear mind and a solid foundation, but she had ever preferred skating by on the agility of her wit and adaptability. She was too fluid to be solid, and that was just her nature. So she abandoned the effort to be other than she was, and stood instead, crossing to the armoire standing in the corner of her room. The simple sleeping yukata she wore slid to the ground in a whisper of blue silk, and instead, she donned a kimono of deep purple, the distended sleeves exaggerated even for such a garment, paired with an embroidered gold obi. It was not the most practical of vestments, but she was not permitted anything else unless she was training or deployed on a mission. To her knowledge, neither of these things was included in her itinerary for the day.

Which meant she would be forced to wander about as a useless ornament to this palatial estate, commanded as ever by a base creature that she despised. Tsubaki knew quite well that the warlord thought of her as his very own particularly exotic pet, and some of his hirelings were not so different. Had she her strength, she would show them all exactly who deserved to bow to whom in this relationship, but presently her soul lay tied to the damnable man’s neck, and she therefore held by the thinnest, most unbreakable of tethers, a red thread binding their fates together for as long as he willed it.

The kitsune woman’s eyes darkened, her grip tightening on the ornamental fan that was the only thing she was allowed to carry that was even capable of damage. Out there, in the field, he could arm her, assured that she would always return. But here, in his house, surrounded by his servants and hired hands, she was too wily to trust with deadly implements. Fool. Anything was a deadly implement when used correctly, but she would not tell him this, lest she find the walls of her gilded cage close in tightly enough to truly suffocate her. She already struggled with her confinement, though to her credit, traces of her predicament were difficult to see on her face.

The woman pinned her hair up into a simple mage ornamented only with a pair of inlaid sticks. It was far from the most expensive ensemble she could have donned, but she was not the kind of woman that preferred nor needed excessive decoration. Also, she detested that none of the things she was granted were hers, and this was a small, subtle showing of her disapproval. Sliding open the painted shoji screen that led out into the main hallway, she wended her way down the labyrinthine corridors to the garden, which tended to be her preferred dwelling place. It was close enough that she did not feel the ache of separation from her star ball, but distant enough that she usually didn’t have to see Yosuke Harada, much less interact with him.

It was too late in the year for cherry blossoms, but the garden was lovely anyway, and she settled with as much contentment as she ever felt anymore into seiza, enjoying the fragrance and the colors. If she stayed like this long enough, her thoughts would eventually quiet, as her immortal mind drifted back over the spans she had already lived. There were mistakes to be found there, certainly, but also happiness, and it was to this that she held most dearly. Tsubaki held no faith that she would find any in the near future, and so she found it in the past instead.