Setting
Default Location for Ways of the Samurai: Journey
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east |
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Japan- Sengoki era is a part of 
Ways of the Samurai: Journey.
10 Characters Here
Kurosawa Ryuunosuke [4] "There is no victory where honor cannot be found."
Korin Baisotei [4] "With no master we have no reason to live but to find one anew."
Kurosawa Tsubaki [3] "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies."
Miss Kohaku Kana [2] Kindness is not weakness.
Sazaname Ryo [2] Madness and Genius, Life and Death- Two Sides of the Same Coin
Maeda Nariko [1] "Women are capable of greatness too."
Warlord Yousuke Harada [1] Daimyo doesn't even begin to cover it
Silverbroidered Leander [1] "The blood of the every-man has long been soaking the hands of the powerful."
Wanizame [0] "Spare me the moral speech, hypocrite."
Hinata Enemoto [0] "Any weaknesses are shown by what one cares for most. That's why I care for nothing."
Start Character Here »
The small town in which heâd been making his home for the past decade or so always rose even before the sun. Ryuunosuke, nocturnal by nature, had had some trouble adjusting to this at first, but with time and the application of his will to the task, he had trained himself to waken in the hours before dawn. As he couldnât quite give up the sight of the moon high in the sky, however, he was yet glad he did not require so much sleep as the average ningen seemed to.
The bamboo pole over his shoulders bowed only slightly under the weight of the water-laden buckets dangling from either end of it, and his footsteps made little noise along the dirt road. They were about a dayâs travel outside of Edo, here, and hardly ever received visitors of the well-intentioned kind. Though he had found that the blossoms were of a most remarkable shade here in spring, sadly the only folk who ever seemed to deign to visit the little place were bandits, and those soon found themselves most unceremoniously⊠dead. Or at least chased well away.
The ronin reached the house he was looking for, knocking politely on the door and stepping over the threshold only when bidden to enter. This humble dwelling, constructed as it was of wood and thatch, was well made, as were most of those that had been erected in the last ten years. Even so, there was only so much one person could do to alleviate the pain of poverty, as evidenced by the interior, clean but spare. The young woman within had two small children at her feet and another harnessed to her back, looking just about as overburdened as one would expect of a lady whose husband had left for the fortunes of the city and abandoned his family to get by without him. He personally found it despicable, but there was little to be done about it now, except perhaps help the woman in some small way.
âAh, Kurosawa-san,â she greeted, dipping into a small bow as the little one on her back allowed. He smiled slightly and returned the gesture.
âEnemoto-san. You look well.â She shook her head slightly and rested a hand on the crown of her oldest son, just now four years old. The boy looked up (quite far up) at him with wide brown eyes, but then, he was usually like that. A soft-spoken, patient child. His three-year-old sister, on the other hand, at once attached herself to his hakama-clad leg, wrapping the limb in her tiny arms in a hug.
âKuro-chan!â she said, though the âroâ sounded more as a âwoâ in the way children sometimes had. Setting down the buckets of well-water, he crouched beside her and held out his arms, which the child interpreted correctly as permission to crawl her way onto his back. âUp!â she demanded with all the imperiousness of a queen, and he chuckled quietly, obliging the order.
âOf course, Sachiko-hime,â he replied gravely, âyour loyal samurai can only obey.â Her too-thin arms wound round his neck, and Ryuunosukeâs smile disappeared entirely. He hated that, what he couldnât do for them. He glanced back over at their mother, Enemoto Mariko, and there was something in her expression that he was instinctively wary of.
âI remember when you did that for me,â she said quietly, and he averted his eyes, choosing to survey the small interior of the home as though he had not seen it before. He really had been here too long; when heâd arrived, Enemoto-san had been a child of no more than ten or eleven, and he knew that he hadnât changed a bit in all that time. For now, it was simple enough to pass off as good health, but soon, people would begin to suspect something. Good people, who had no business knowing about such unworthy things as youkai and the burden of centuries .
âYouâve always been there for me, havenât you, Kurosawa-san?â she asked, though it was more to the air than to himself, and he sighed. Over the many years heâd spent wandering the human world, this occasionally happened. He could understand; it was difficult for a ningen woman to make her way in the world without the support of a husband, especially if she happened to have children already. He was no wealthy daimyo, but he did have a steady income, a valuable skill, and a proclivity to look after people. He had no illusions that any of these women were in love with himâthey didnât even know who he was, not really. But it was distressing to have this conversation over and over again.
âThe past and the future are often different, Enemoto-san,â he replied, tone heavy with regret. He truly did need to leave, he decided. Sooner rather than later. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Sachiko squirmed, and he gently let her down back onto the floor, tousling her raven-colored hair with a hand before regaining his full height. "Your forgiveness, Enemoto-san, but I should not linger.â He continued. âKaito-ojiisama needs his garden weeded.â The old man was hardly well enough to be doing so on his own, village headman or no. With a deep bow, half apology and half farewell, he exited the home through the same doorway heâd used to enter.
He would leave tonight. He had to.
The bamboo pole over his shoulders bowed only slightly under the weight of the water-laden buckets dangling from either end of it, and his footsteps made little noise along the dirt road. They were about a dayâs travel outside of Edo, here, and hardly ever received visitors of the well-intentioned kind. Though he had found that the blossoms were of a most remarkable shade here in spring, sadly the only folk who ever seemed to deign to visit the little place were bandits, and those soon found themselves most unceremoniously⊠dead. Or at least chased well away.
The ronin reached the house he was looking for, knocking politely on the door and stepping over the threshold only when bidden to enter. This humble dwelling, constructed as it was of wood and thatch, was well made, as were most of those that had been erected in the last ten years. Even so, there was only so much one person could do to alleviate the pain of poverty, as evidenced by the interior, clean but spare. The young woman within had two small children at her feet and another harnessed to her back, looking just about as overburdened as one would expect of a lady whose husband had left for the fortunes of the city and abandoned his family to get by without him. He personally found it despicable, but there was little to be done about it now, except perhaps help the woman in some small way.
âAh, Kurosawa-san,â she greeted, dipping into a small bow as the little one on her back allowed. He smiled slightly and returned the gesture.
âEnemoto-san. You look well.â She shook her head slightly and rested a hand on the crown of her oldest son, just now four years old. The boy looked up (quite far up) at him with wide brown eyes, but then, he was usually like that. A soft-spoken, patient child. His three-year-old sister, on the other hand, at once attached herself to his hakama-clad leg, wrapping the limb in her tiny arms in a hug.
âKuro-chan!â she said, though the âroâ sounded more as a âwoâ in the way children sometimes had. Setting down the buckets of well-water, he crouched beside her and held out his arms, which the child interpreted correctly as permission to crawl her way onto his back. âUp!â she demanded with all the imperiousness of a queen, and he chuckled quietly, obliging the order.
âOf course, Sachiko-hime,â he replied gravely, âyour loyal samurai can only obey.â Her too-thin arms wound round his neck, and Ryuunosukeâs smile disappeared entirely. He hated that, what he couldnât do for them. He glanced back over at their mother, Enemoto Mariko, and there was something in her expression that he was instinctively wary of.
âI remember when you did that for me,â she said quietly, and he averted his eyes, choosing to survey the small interior of the home as though he had not seen it before. He really had been here too long; when heâd arrived, Enemoto-san had been a child of no more than ten or eleven, and he knew that he hadnât changed a bit in all that time. For now, it was simple enough to pass off as good health, but soon, people would begin to suspect something. Good people, who had no business knowing about such unworthy things as youkai and the burden of centuries .
âYouâve always been there for me, havenât you, Kurosawa-san?â she asked, though it was more to the air than to himself, and he sighed. Over the many years heâd spent wandering the human world, this occasionally happened. He could understand; it was difficult for a ningen woman to make her way in the world without the support of a husband, especially if she happened to have children already. He was no wealthy daimyo, but he did have a steady income, a valuable skill, and a proclivity to look after people. He had no illusions that any of these women were in love with himâthey didnât even know who he was, not really. But it was distressing to have this conversation over and over again.
âThe past and the future are often different, Enemoto-san,â he replied, tone heavy with regret. He truly did need to leave, he decided. Sooner rather than later. Sensing the change in atmosphere, Sachiko squirmed, and he gently let her down back onto the floor, tousling her raven-colored hair with a hand before regaining his full height. "Your forgiveness, Enemoto-san, but I should not linger.â He continued. âKaito-ojiisama needs his garden weeded.â The old man was hardly well enough to be doing so on his own, village headman or no. With a deep bow, half apology and half farewell, he exited the home through the same doorway heâd used to enter.
He would leave tonight. He had to.
Lady Chinatsu had been eerily quiet, a crazed calm tingling under her skin, visible in her half lidded eyes. She allowed Kana to comb her hair, her head leaning this way or that with the gentle strokes, the morning was spent this way until Kana was done, the honorable lady spoke. "Bring me his head Kana-chan, won't you? His head." She sounded like a little girl almost, the request so simple and innocent, as though she were simply asking Kana to go to the store and get her some sweets. It made Kana wince.
"Of course Chinatsu-dono." came her reply, her voice hurt with the force of sounding chipper, her smile offset by the worried furrow of her brow. She did not like what the Lady had become, but it was not her place to judge. "Today we will find the men, and tomorrow we will-" - "GO THEN." Lady Chinatsu's voice cut violently through the ending of Kana's sentence, she froze and shrunk. "Yes ma'am." Kana deftly left the room. She used to cry when Lady Chinatsu yelled at her, but now Kana knew better than to waste her tears, the honorable madam did not mean it, she was simply in grief. She had to remember not to take these things personally, though it was difficult.
"Is she in a mood again?" Lady Chinatsu's mother asked as she passed by her. When was she ever not in a mood? "I think she is simply impatient is all." Kana hadn't the heart to speak ill of Lady Chinatsu and made excuses and underplayed Chinatsu-dono's condition often enough to where the old woman knew what Kana really meant. With a sigh she turned away from Kana, off to see her daughter, "Do yourself a favor and find yourself a husband dear, one that will take you away from here and this nonsense. And if you'd stop playing with swords and put your hair up you'd find one much quicker..."
Kana silently watched her leave for a moment before continuing on her way to the dojo the family owned on their property. Today she would be hiring ronin to avenge the deaths of everyone she had ever loved, and for the lost sanity of the woman she had admired growing up. The weight of this task made her anxious and giddy. Already she had several recommendations from trusted individuals in town, telling her so and so was known for never having failed yet, and that this other person was as good as a legend. The tree was ripe for picking apparently and if this was ever going to happen now was the time. She had the assistance of Lady Chinatsu's father in this matter. He had set up a notice in various places, inviting ronin to come to his home and try their hand against one another, the strongest would be selected for the job.
Upon arrival Kana saw how many ronin this attracted, and in the great city of Edo there were many who did not have work and desperately needed it. At least twenty men had shown up, not a bad number, or was it? Kana was not sure in these matters. She observed them spar from a distance for a while, before turning away, taking the tessen from the belt of her kimono and unfurling it, using it to block out the sun. Today her tessen and hidden tanto would be her warried weapons. She would go to ask the barmen and shop owners if they had any promising customers to speak of.
"Ah! Kana-chan this way!" A barkeep waved Kana down, "This is the man I was talking to you about. A good strong fellow I hired not too long ago, he'll get whatever job you need done." Kana reached the two and bowed customarily. "Thank you Miyazaki-sama."
Korin Baisotei
âYou should consider going, they would be well served by one of your abilities.â Korin couldnât help but smile a little at the old women, her voice seemed to him the sound of an old creaking tree; each word filled with a deep and rich history behind it. The women herself fitted the voice she wielded, her back slumped from age and a wrinkled face showed her great age. Korin shook his head though, the smile fading from his face as he did. He glanced around for a moment, looking at the crisp and informal walls of the small home in Edo, before him sat a cup of tea which he quickly emptied before speaking. â You think too highly of me. I am sure plenty of other ronin shall be at the lady Chinatsu-donos callâ
âOthers will go for money, how many would go with honor and duty? How many will stay when they find the reward too small for what is being asked of them?â The lady moved now, gesturing beside her and drawing Korins eyes to the three heads that sat there. His latest work, he had spent an entire week hunting down the bandits for the ancient lady and he could still feel the dirt of the road on him. The bandits had killed the ancient ladies son who had been a minor samurai, in her want for justice she had offered a reward for their heads. The only one who had gone after them though was he, the reward offered had just been too small for anyone else to be bothered with going. He was looking at the head of his recent kills when he froze, moving his eyes back to the old women before him before he spoke, a chill now to his voice. âHow do you know what is being asked for them? I heard it was but a call to service, a return of honor to those without.â
The old women smiled then, an almost cute act on such a face. Her eyes actually got a little shine to them as she started to speak. âOh dear chocho-sama, you are still so young. You should listen to gossip more, they will certainly be hunting a very large preyâ Korin winced slightly as she called him chocho, a name he had accidently picked up while protecting a small village in the mountains. One of the children had seen him fighting and with his style and purple clothing the child had called him chocho. Butterfly. Worst of all they kept on insisting that it was an honorable title. âWhat prey, and how would you know of this I doubt the gossips so bold as to name names?â
The old one leaned forward, pouring more tea into his cup as she spoke to him. âOf course they would not name anyone out right but, her husband was killed by lord Yousuke Haru and she is gathering powerful warriors together, it takes one to drink far too much sake for them to think these two things are not connected. â A frown graced Korinâs face now, the wheels in his brain turning as they tried to piece together what she was saying. He had never bothered with gossip but he knew who Yousuke Haru was, and he was more certainly a big prey. The lady put down the pot of tea again, speaking once more. âHow many do you think would be willing to fight a foe like that? One who could pay them far more than the most honorable lady? At least consider it chocho, it would do you good to have a purpose other than helping out helpless old ladies. â Korin shook his head now, rising from his kneeling position as he bowed to her. âI shall consider your words, I do not think you as helpless as you might claim.â Turning easily he left, his thoughts more than a little troubled. The old women watched him go with a small smile on her face, turning she regarded the three severed heads before her. Reaching out he ran her fingers along the edge of one of their chins, tears running down her face freely since now there was no one to see them.
Standing outside of the house Korin looked up into the sky, the sun beating down on him as he thought. would it not be right that I die like my father did before me? Seeking revenge for a fallen master?....not my master though Turning Korin started away, the villagers moving from his path when they noticed he was a samurai. He walked slowly at first, going away from where the tryouts would be until he stopped, turning quickly he picked up his pace into a fast and hurried walk towards the building. He would look in on it he decided, if they did not need anyone else he would leave.
When he reached the home in which the Ronin were supposed to assemble he made his way in quickly, moving towards the sounds of fighting and the gathering crowd. More than a few people had come but Korin couldnât help but frown at them all, many of the ones he saw fell into one of three categories. More than a few fresh faced boys stood around, eyes wide as they looked at the other warriors. They would be no help in a battle, many had probably little skill with the weapons they wore on them. The other group were men on the opposite end of the spectrum, warriors far past their prime whose time was well past. While they would have the experience the young ones were lacking they did not have the abilities to use it correctly. It was the third category that concerned Korin even more though, the last warriors were the men who seemed most dishonorable. The type of warriors who wanted money, not honor. The type of men that would easily be bought out by an enemy but more importantly might stab you in the back if they saw it as beneficial to them. They had no honor, and wanted none.
With that Korin closed his eyes, a small sigh escaping him as he moved his hand to his blade. If he left there was no way he could be sure one of them might not be chosen by mistake, the only solution he could see was to fight, to make it so that each of them left in disgrace. Opening his eyes with a new determination he found himself smiling. I guess the decision was not that hard to make after all
Silverbroidered Leander âTakaraâ
âAh, Moonblade-sama, there you are!â The owner of the bar called out to Leander. At the sound, Leanderâs back straightened and his posture returned to complete his guise. In his mind he cursed, his bad luck. The fake swordsman had been trying to sneak out of the bar before the man awoke. âAre you hungry?â The barkeep asked Leander with a smile on his face. Leander simply tipped his wide-brimmed hat forward in response. The man laughed. âAllays the quiet one, even in the mornings I see.â Leander wished he could sigh as he moved over to sit down for breakfast.
âIt would be much easier to eat if you didnât always cover your mouth.â The man commented as he began preparing the mercenary some food, referring to the cloth that Leander had over his mouth. In response the fake swordsman tilted down his hat to hide most of his face. Then when he was sure he couldnât be identified, he removed the cloth.
âIâm not much to look at.â Leander said to the man in a rough voice, mimicking the one he had heard from the true owner of the clothes he now wore. The barkeep simple chuckled at his comment. Even after only a few days, Leander had about had enough of that laugh.
------
The fake swordsman sat sitting outside the bar. He took to doing that when he didnât have enough money to afford food. Which was most days. He had found that if he sat quietly outside places, people tended to take a little pity on wandering swordsmen. Not asking for charity seemed to be quite effective in receiving it.
This time however, Leander seemed to be scaring off a few customers. He didnât mean to, he wasnât portraying a brooding or dangerous man. Yet every once and a while, Leander would notice that someone would stop and retract their approach just as they drew close to the barâs entrance. Eventually, Leander got up to leave. He hadnât received any charity all day, so he figured his luck wasnât going to change. Though as he began walking away he heard someone call out to him.
âPlease! Donât leave yet! Iâm sorry for taking advantage of you!â A man called as he exited the bar. Leander turned around, confused at the statement. As far as he could tell, he hadnât been taken advantage of yet. âThere are still some inside. Please, Iâll pay you!â The man said, holding out some money. Before Leander could respond, he was being dragged inside. A few moments later Leander sat at the bar, still quite confused, though didnât show it.
âThere they are.â The barkeep pointed at three men who were sitting down at one of the tables. âThey are the ones, please run them out. They cause so much trouble. Iâm really sorry for taking advantage of you. Iâll pay you for keeping out the troublemakers earlier.â The man begged quietly to Leander. Leander stared at the man for a moment, then looked over at the men. They seemed calm enough, not like ruffians at all. âPlease, go.â The man said before Leander could make up his mind, then the barkeep pushed the fake swordsman towards the table.
The three looked up at Leander, confused. Two seemed a bit frightened when they saw Moonbladeâs swords, but the third shook his head and grinned a bit. Leander sat down at the table, keeping a noble posture, but not saying anything. It seemed too late to back out now. The man who hadnât been afraid was the first to speak.
âSo, I guess he finally made good on his promise. I was wondering why the place was so empty today.â The man spoke to Leander, just softly enough so that only those sitting at the table could hear. âWell I guess we donât have bring this fool business anyways.â The man commented, then stood up.
âFine then you old bastard!â The man yelled at the barkeep. âItâs not our damn fault your daughter is so flirty.â The came a soft cry from the door to another room. Leander spotted a young woman peering from around the corner. âI tell you what though, I never thought you would make good on that threat. You really are stupider than I thought. Hiring a swordsman to scare of your own customers.â He turned to Leander as he finished. âBe careful then swordsman, this damn fool will run you off two. That is if he doesnât run out of money to pay you with first!â The man yelled that last part for the barkeep to hear. Then stormed out of the bar, the two others close in toe.
âVery good! That was amazing! You ran them off without even speaking!â The barkeep praised Leander, walking over to him. Leander couldnât help but raising an eyebrow, even his iron cast disguise had been cracked by this fool of a man. âTell me swordsman, what is your name?â The barkeep asked.
âMoonblade.â Leander spoke in a rough voice, regaining his composure enough to keep up his disguise and remember the name of the man who had saved his life.
------
âAh! Kana-chan this way!â The man who stood slightly in front of Leander exclaimed, waving down the woman who had entered the bar. Leander tilted up his wide brim hat for a moment and looked over the woman, who seemed rather young. As the barkeep continued to speak it became apparent that this was the one who he had informed Leander about. The one looking for swordsmen to hire. As the barkeep sang the fake swordsmanâs praises and they both bowed, though it did not show, Leander was quite relived. Surely such a frail woman couldnât set a very dangerous task.
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.
Tsubakiâs 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 oneâs 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 manâs 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 womanâs 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 didnât 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.
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.
Tsubakiâs 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 oneâs 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 manâs 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 womanâs 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 didnât 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.
"Ah, there she is. We will approach her now, if you please." Okashii whispered into Ryo's ear.
Though it was very much against Ryo's will, it felt a refreshing sense of ease whenever it was in Kurasawa-san's presence. Like itself, she was held captive against her will- a marionette forced to dance to the whims of a power-hungry puppeteer. As it stalked towards the now-relaxing Tsubaki, Ryo could feel the torment welling up inside of it. Okashii and Tsubaki recognized each other as youkai within seconds of meeting each other, and Okashii made it a point to readily taunt her for her forced servitude.
"No..." Ryo pondered, "It is I who am the tormentor..."
There was no solace for Ryo, not even in its mind. Ryo's will was Okashii's will- the youkai had done nothing but ignite dormant flames of insanity within the hapless puppet. The inner turmoil extinguished about as quickly as it began, however, as Ryo had approached Tsubaki, looming over her in her meditative state.
"Kurasawa-san..." Ryo began, before promptly bashing itself in the head with its puppet.
"You must never, never, EVER utter a word without my leave, worm!" Okashii tormented in a hoarse, gravelly belt, "Pay no heed to my vassal, Kurasawa-kun; your time need only be spent with one of your own. I trust the day finds you as indentured as ever, Puppet?"
It was a rather ironic nickname, given that Okashii himself was indeed sealed inside of a puppet, further accentuated by the fact that it was indeed the puppet itself that took advantage of the hapless Ryo. Okashii's only goal is to incite fervor and madness, something he tended to do quite well with Lady Kurasawa.
Three daysâ leisurely walk after leaving the village heâd called home for the last ten years, Ryuunosuke came at last to Edo, his temporary destination. The leaving had been rather simpleâthough he grew to care deeply for the people at each new place he lived, he was simply a transient being by necessity. When one lived as long as he had, one learned not to put down too many roots, not to place too much value in the bonds one formedânever get too close to tear yourself away. It was a sad thing, and lonely, but born from need and inescapable.
The day was dawning warm and sunny, the scents of summer pungent on the light breeze. It teased gently at the ends of his hair and the edges of his dark clothing, creating a picture of serenity that was somewhat at odds with the permanent disquiet in his heart. Across his back, he carried only the barest necessities of life, plus two scrolls, sealed in waterproof containers, upon which he had painted his latest pair of works. He had been meaning to make a trip into the city to sell them, anyway, so it had seemed the most natural destination upon his departure. The roninâs geta made only the softest of scuffling sounds on the dirt road before him, for he knew that to pass in silence was utterly suspicious, and had no wish to draw such unwelcome feelings upon himself. It was better to be thought humble and left be than to be thought mighty and constantly forced to prove it one more time.
Gradually, the road led into the city itself, the cultivated landscapes of rice paddies transitioning into the wooden buildings of residences, and then of a large marketplace. Edo was as bustling as ever, and he supposed it would never be otherwise, unless it met with some great calamity that even he could not foresee. He found himself hoping that it would notâfor all their imperfections and cruelties, humans were generally worthy beings. Fragile, yes, and ephemeral, but for all that worthy.
His steps carried him eventually to his art dealer, a middle-aged man who seemed to be perpetually smoking a pipe, and after a few moments of admiring the scrolls and bargaining over the price they would fetch, Ryuunosuke left rather enriched, tucking the new purse of ryo into the space between his gi and his kosode. It was at this point that something caught his attention: affixed to the front wall of a tavern was a notice. Diverting from his arrow-straight course, the violet-eyed fellow approached it, tilting his head slightly to one side as he read the script thereupon. A contest for ronin? Apparently with the ultimate aim of selecting them for a dangerous job.
It was the family name of the requestor that drew his attention, however. Kobayashi. It was a name heâd heard before, on a few sparse occasions. More than that, however, he had known a Kobayashi, several centuries ago now. To suppose that this Kobayashi might be a descendant of his was a bit improbable, but he owed the name enough to check and see if the cause for which they were assembling so many men was something he could stand behind.
Acquiring directions to the dojo from a passerby, he walked for another twenty or so minutes, finding himself at last where he sought to be. The locale was not one he knew, and he surmised it probably belonged to the Kobayashi in question, as he was aware of the family having attained the status necessary to procure such a homestead. But perhaps they were yet vassals to some noble house, and this property belonged to such as was their lord or lady.
Between twenty and twenty-five other people were assembled, some already engaging in practice bouts under the eye of the one he assumed must be Kobayashi, an older man of regal disposition and bearingâthough he looked little like his predecessor if so. Perhaps he was a relative from another family or something of that nature. Casting his glance about the room, Ryuunosuke occupied himself with feeling out the ki signatures in the room with his magic. There were a few of considerable strength, which he supposed would be heartening to the assessor, but from the looks of things the majority were poorly-suited, and nothing was yet properly underway regardless.
Folding his arms into his sleeves, he approached the man nearest himâa fellow in a purple kimono with what appeared to be quite the assortment of weapons on his person. Inclining himself somewhat at the waist, as one should upon meeting a stranger, he inquired. âIt appears as though the trials are yet to begin in earnest. Is it clear for what we wait?â
The day was dawning warm and sunny, the scents of summer pungent on the light breeze. It teased gently at the ends of his hair and the edges of his dark clothing, creating a picture of serenity that was somewhat at odds with the permanent disquiet in his heart. Across his back, he carried only the barest necessities of life, plus two scrolls, sealed in waterproof containers, upon which he had painted his latest pair of works. He had been meaning to make a trip into the city to sell them, anyway, so it had seemed the most natural destination upon his departure. The roninâs geta made only the softest of scuffling sounds on the dirt road before him, for he knew that to pass in silence was utterly suspicious, and had no wish to draw such unwelcome feelings upon himself. It was better to be thought humble and left be than to be thought mighty and constantly forced to prove it one more time.
Gradually, the road led into the city itself, the cultivated landscapes of rice paddies transitioning into the wooden buildings of residences, and then of a large marketplace. Edo was as bustling as ever, and he supposed it would never be otherwise, unless it met with some great calamity that even he could not foresee. He found himself hoping that it would notâfor all their imperfections and cruelties, humans were generally worthy beings. Fragile, yes, and ephemeral, but for all that worthy.
His steps carried him eventually to his art dealer, a middle-aged man who seemed to be perpetually smoking a pipe, and after a few moments of admiring the scrolls and bargaining over the price they would fetch, Ryuunosuke left rather enriched, tucking the new purse of ryo into the space between his gi and his kosode. It was at this point that something caught his attention: affixed to the front wall of a tavern was a notice. Diverting from his arrow-straight course, the violet-eyed fellow approached it, tilting his head slightly to one side as he read the script thereupon. A contest for ronin? Apparently with the ultimate aim of selecting them for a dangerous job.
It was the family name of the requestor that drew his attention, however. Kobayashi. It was a name heâd heard before, on a few sparse occasions. More than that, however, he had known a Kobayashi, several centuries ago now. To suppose that this Kobayashi might be a descendant of his was a bit improbable, but he owed the name enough to check and see if the cause for which they were assembling so many men was something he could stand behind.
Acquiring directions to the dojo from a passerby, he walked for another twenty or so minutes, finding himself at last where he sought to be. The locale was not one he knew, and he surmised it probably belonged to the Kobayashi in question, as he was aware of the family having attained the status necessary to procure such a homestead. But perhaps they were yet vassals to some noble house, and this property belonged to such as was their lord or lady.
Between twenty and twenty-five other people were assembled, some already engaging in practice bouts under the eye of the one he assumed must be Kobayashi, an older man of regal disposition and bearingâthough he looked little like his predecessor if so. Perhaps he was a relative from another family or something of that nature. Casting his glance about the room, Ryuunosuke occupied himself with feeling out the ki signatures in the room with his magic. There were a few of considerable strength, which he supposed would be heartening to the assessor, but from the looks of things the majority were poorly-suited, and nothing was yet properly underway regardless.
Folding his arms into his sleeves, he approached the man nearest himâa fellow in a purple kimono with what appeared to be quite the assortment of weapons on his person. Inclining himself somewhat at the waist, as one should upon meeting a stranger, he inquired. âIt appears as though the trials are yet to begin in earnest. Is it clear for what we wait?â
At the approach of the puppet-creature, Tsubakiâs eyes slanted sideways, to glance at it disdainfully from the corners. Despite the fact that she was sitting and it was not, she still managed to convey a very deliberate sense of looking down upon it, the particular brand of haughtiness that only a noblewoman or a very high-class oiran could even manage fitting as smoothly to her delicate face as a second skin would.
The vessel addressed her first, which was most irregular, earning itself a vaguely-disturbing retribution from the puppet-who-was youkai. Low-class, base youkai hardly worthy of her time, but youkai nonetheless. âDo not presume to address me so,â She said, the words so soft and cold one could almost feel a thin layer of ice forming upon their surface. âYou, maggot, are not the one that holds my strings.â she had not thus far moved to look at the creature she was addressing at all, and indeed after the first glance, her eyes had shifted dismissively back to the front.
Now, though, she turned, just a tiny bit, causing a little waver in thin chains of silver flowers that hung from the ends of her hair ornaments, and the softest whisper of silk fabric. âYou seem to have enough trouble holding a maddened human in your sway. You could not master a creature such as I.â And he shall not, either. Her eyes narrowed to obsidian slits, but then she turned away again, clearly a gesture of dismissal.
She was not here to entertain fools, and she did not have to indulge this thing that believed it held some form of sway over her. If so, it was sorely misguided. It took more than a few stray words, spoken of the obvious, to stir her passions, of any sort. Not that she knew any of them but anger, these days.
The vessel addressed her first, which was most irregular, earning itself a vaguely-disturbing retribution from the puppet-who-was youkai. Low-class, base youkai hardly worthy of her time, but youkai nonetheless. âDo not presume to address me so,â She said, the words so soft and cold one could almost feel a thin layer of ice forming upon their surface. âYou, maggot, are not the one that holds my strings.â she had not thus far moved to look at the creature she was addressing at all, and indeed after the first glance, her eyes had shifted dismissively back to the front.
Now, though, she turned, just a tiny bit, causing a little waver in thin chains of silver flowers that hung from the ends of her hair ornaments, and the softest whisper of silk fabric. âYou seem to have enough trouble holding a maddened human in your sway. You could not master a creature such as I.â And he shall not, either. Her eyes narrowed to obsidian slits, but then she turned away again, clearly a gesture of dismissal.
She was not here to entertain fools, and she did not have to indulge this thing that believed it held some form of sway over her. If so, it was sorely misguided. It took more than a few stray words, spoken of the obvious, to stir her passions, of any sort. Not that she knew any of them but anger, these days.
Korin Baisotei
Korin turned slightly as the stranger approach him, he returned the bow he was given as he looked the man over. The man who stood before him was by far one of the tallest men Korin had ever seen, the dark clothing made him seem even larger than he probably actually was. Unlike many of the other men their Korin had no doubts that this one would be able to handle the blades he had with him. The man resembled
The giant spoke then, a sound that had the barest hint of something being off about it though Korin had no skill to place it and it was only the barest of sense of something beneath it; not something that he even gave a passing though. âIt appears as though the trials are yet to begin in earnest. Is it clear for what we wait?â
Turning back towards the field before him Korin regarded the gathered crowd of ronin, many seemed to be in no rush and more importantly the person who seemed to be in charge had yet to direct or do anything of note. The few people practicing on the field were kicking up a bit of dust, clouding the air around them. Even these ones though didnât seem to know exactly what it was that they were doing. Turning back to the giant Korin spoke in a low voice that would carry between the two of them but no farther. âI do not know for certain, I have only just arrived here myself. To my eyes it seems as though no one knows what it is that they should be doing. â
Korin paused then; he himself didnât know exactly what it was that he was doing there. He had only ended up here on a whim and it was simply another win that had kept him here. He held in a small sigh before speaking once more, curious about the giant who stood beside him as he did not seem to fit into his previous thoughts about the other ronin here. âI take it you are also here to sell your blade then, is money what you are seeking?
The sun rose and with it, so did Maeda Nariko. She had a nasty habit of rising early, much like her father, but her preference would have been to sleep in. Unfortunately, her body wouldn't allow her to be lazy, a trait that was drilled into her by her father. The first thing she did after sitting up from her small makeshift bed was to pull her purse from inside her robes. She let the money fall into the palm of her hand. She had only ten coppers to her name. Sighing she placed the paltry amount back into the purse and slipped it back into her kimono. She shouldn't have gambled her last ryo away last night playing dice but at the time it called her name, begging her, convincing her that she would win this time. In the end, she lost it to a man named Chiguma.
She picked herself from the floor, folded the bedsheets and placed them in a corner. She was nothing if not neat. She didn't have the money to pay the innkeep. She could make a very easy escape through the window, though her father would frown upon the action, but what else was she to do? She wrote a note, explaining to the innkeep that she had no money with which to pay him, but she would be sure to come back and do so once she gained some. Leaving the simple note in the middle of the floor so that it would be easily found, she slipped through the window moving slowly across the rooftop of the bar next door. She lowered herself carefully from the rooftop onto the hard packed soil and brushed herself off. Thankful that she had remembered her straw sandals, she pulled them on her feet and walked the alley way until it let out onto a busy street.
She was strolling leisurely along the street, drawing looks left and right from men and women alike when she glanced at a poster. This certain poster made her take pause and as she studied the elegant script, it revealed a possible work opportunity for her. One which she was desperate for.
She followed the directions presented on the poster to a rather well-built estate, belonging to the infamous Lady Chinatsu. Everybody knew of the Massacre in the Mountains, as it was being called. It would seem she was rallying warriors so that she could exact her revenge on the Warlord Yousuke. Whatever the cause, it did not matter to Nariko. All that concerned her was whether she gained coin or not for her services.
As she set foot onto the practice yard, she surveyed her competitors. It was unsurprising to see that she was the only female present. Some Ronin were already sparring in the yard, most likely getting in some well needed practice before the actual trials begin. She spotted a place where others were sitting and waiting for further instructions. She decided that was where she needed to be and sat next to a rather tall man who in turn was seated next to a young man with strange brown hair and a purple kimono. They were having a discussion about when the trial's would actually begin. She sat quietly for a moment or tow, listening in, when she could no longer hold her tongue. "Pardon the intrusion, but do either of you know where the host of this little gathering is? I grow more anxious the longer we wait."
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