Vansibel
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Visions
Mar 18, 2005 11:16:51 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:16:51 GMT -5
This is a set of Samurai Shodown stories created by a good friend of mine, and which I felt like posting there. Altought I rarely get to read fanfictions, I actually enjoyed those. The first chapter was hosted at samurai shodown forever, but he never released the other. I asked him if I could post them here and he agreed.
-Visions. by Aleas Crawan
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Vansibel
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Mar 18, 2005 11:20:11 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:20:11 GMT -5
-Vision1a
"...You're mad!" He tells me, I wonder why they all keep telling me this? Don't they realize that it is they who are insane? Can they really believe that their actions or values bear any sanity? Teehihi, I hear her cry at their folly.
"In the name of justice I, Galford, must defeat you. Prepare to die demon."
Justice? I tilt my head to one side quizzically before my laughter breaks out in waves that rack my body and brings me to my knees.
"You dare laugh at me? PLASMA BLADE!" He shouts as he hurls what seems to be some kind of energy shuriken at me and his dog rushes after it. Crouching I find myself chuckling, my forehead against the ground, my laughter mounts and my backs arches as I shriek my hilarity at the night sky visible through the long tops of the surrounding bamboo forest. Somewhere, smothered behind the mirth, the thought that I ought do something about the projectile rushing at me. It explodes into my chest, tongues of electricity race through my limbs leaving in their wake the delicious pain that powers me. Teehihi, the pain I crave so that always tests the chain of our love... I use it to shape the darkness that carries us since your death into shapes that they fear. Black immaterial bats scatter from where I stood an instant before. From the within the darkness I see the wolfdog yelp in surprise at return to his master's heel. Hii hii heh heh... The darkness flows as ever and I let it carry me within a few feet from him. He turns to and fro desperately seeking me out as he stinks of barely mastered fear.
"Where are you demon? Are you dead or have you so little courage that you fly before me?" Courage? Another vain word... I hold my laughter in check and my karasu (triple bladed weapon) in hand. It bears her spirit and once was her body. He doesn't exist... I am beneath him now and from the shadows I surge, one of my blades rip through him and within the streaking flash of the blade her beautiful face in anguish... Her pain, my pain, the past... the present... The moon lights the blood as it sprays a beautiful dark crimson against the dark night air. The dog knows better than to attack me, it probably tried to turn it's master from his madness. Folly for all that attacks me will taste the sweetness that I give. It howls beside the halves that are its master's remains. I snap the blood away from her vessel, glimpse her exiting the clearing and follow after her. The splendid nightmare continues...
I have howled the traditional lament of the departed that will lead Galford's spirit safely to the beyond and ease his journey as I had when he lived. I see his spirit unroot itself and depart. There's is nothing left for me here so I should depart as well but it is difficult. The memories of our close friendship flash before me and the pain wells within, I howl a farewell forever and obey the imperious and instinctive need to run through the night, away from the pain, away from the place of his death, away... The earth rushes beneath me and the landscape flashes by, far I have run and the sun tints with blue the dark night sky and promises a soon forthcoming dawn. My tongue hangs and my sides heave as I suck in the brisk morning air. Regret, remorse and vengeance are not in my nature, I feel exhilarated and free once again. Free as I was before meeting Galford, not that I was ever bound to Galford by anything other than love. He was at least smart enough never to try to bend me to his will. As I sit upon a hill waiting for the sun to rise on the horizon, I recall our first meeting...
At the time, I ran with my father's pack. My father was different from his pack brothers : he was bigger, stronger, faster and smarter than most of the others, his fur was rust-colored and his fangs were white. I inherited most of his intellectual attributes but physically I took mostly from my mother. My black and white fur and large but lithe frame came from my mother, yet the fangs that I too have snow white come from my father. We had separated an old reindeer from it's herd and had frightened it into the forest of pine trees where it would be hindered and where we were going to kill it. I remember how I was the closest to the prey that day, I was leading the pack for the first time, and I was only two springs old too. I had never been a match for my father when it came to a contest of speed and strength, for though I was bigger and faster than most of our pack brothers I was still much smaller than he, but when it came to dodging in and out of trees he just wasn't built for it. I on the other hand had seemingly been born for feats of agility and stealth. So I was the closest behind the prey, all my senses reported that I would soon be making the killing bite. I saw the prey and it was within leaping distance, I knew it could neither have seen nor have heard me and yet it seemed to have sensed me. It drained the last of it's reserves in a wild leap forward, I leaped after knowing that I would catch it by the throat in mid leap and take it down. My fangs indeed sank into it's jugular and then quite abruptly the earth vanished beneath us. The prey and I were falling. We had both leapt of a cliff, and as we fell the prey died as it's brain was deprived of blood, it died but I swear their was a wryly satisfied glint in it's eye as it did. The fall seemed long though in retrospect I suppose it wasn't, the white snow covered earth was rushing up to meet me and when it did, I knew that I would die. Then I hit and the impact jarred me from nose to tail with a dreadfully loud cracking sound that could only be the sound of my bones shattering, then white unconsciousness engulfed me.
I had awoken some time later, I couldn't tell exactly how long since my internal clock seemed to have been frozen out of order, but I had other concerns. Such as why was I half dry and chilled to the bone, why was I tightly tied up in a thick warm blanket and placed next to an ironpipe stove, why was I still alive? Still alive! I gave a garbled yelp of surprise and joy through chattering teeth. I then realized that I was in cabin and I wasn't by myself as a voice said : "I'm happy to see you're going to make it. I had a cold hard time pulling you out of that lake you know. I had to dive in myself, glad it wasn't for nothing!" I squirmed until I could the see the voice's owner. It was a spiky blond haired blue eyed fresh faced young man wrapped in a red blanket.
My father had begun his life in a family household, and had lived with many other humans after that. In the evenings of plentiful summers, when all had eaten their fill, he would tell me the tales of his tribulations among men. He taught me to read their mannerisms, body language, smells and to neither fear them nor trust them blindly. The others in the pack refused to acknowledge the wisdom in these tales, they obstinately stuck to the tradition of blind fear and disgust for all things human. True enough my father had some encounters with despicable humans, but also some few that he had loved. The last of which was a miner who tore him away from an abusive slave driver, he joined the pack shortly after the death of that man.
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Vansibel
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Mar 18, 2005 11:21:24 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:21:24 GMT -5
-Vision1b
I was confronted with my first human; it kept making placating noises. I had learned through my father that humans place great stock in oral communication, observing this specimen I understood what my father meant when he had told me that their oral language was completely redundant. Although I didn't know the man's language, his movements and smells spoke eloquently. The man seemed decent enough, he had after all saved my life but I didn't appreciate being tied and I wanted to know a bit more about the man's character. I shrugged out of the blanket and the coils of rope that bound me there by using my suppleness combined with my strength in an odd undulating movement. The man gawked at me with his mouth hanging open and his blue eyes wide. I dashed at him, he only had time to stand up, which conveniently exposed his midsection as I rammed into it. I heard his breath leave his lungs in a whooshing sound as he was propelled backwards against the door that slammed open as he fell on the snow that lay behind it. He staggered to his feet fighting to regain his breath. His body language expressed pain and surprise, but unexpectedly it also expressed amusement, admiration, playfulness and a strong fighting spirit. None of my father's stories had ever described men as fighters, he had narrated their skill at killing and hunting but never had he described men as possessing the fighting spirit and yet the man before me was like a wolf in his fighting spirit. He assumed a fighting stance, feet spread, one hand outstretched before him and the other at his shoulder... He was waiting for me. I sprinted straight at him, a few feet away from him I swiftly sidestepped and leaped at him aiming to take him down and settle this. He didn't move, at first I thought I had caught him unawares as my teeth sank into the bandana he wore around his neck, I had begun pulling him down when I realized that something unexpected had happened. I was indeed holding the scarf between my teeth but it was tied around a log. The man had vanished. I was astonished, "What happened?" I wondered. Instinct or some primal sense warned me and I looked up. He was high above and fast falling towards me. With a flick of my neck I tossed the log upwards at him so as to distract him and leaped away, I had decided to attack just after he landed expecting him to be vulnerable. He then demonstrated why he kept a hand at his shoulder when it flashed forth and back revealing a short sword that sliced the log in twain and was resheathed in one impossibly swift movement. I leaped forward, he landed, my paws connected flat against his upper chest and he fell backwards. Time stopped and we were both still, like statues planted in the snow. I was standing over him with my teeth at his neck yet not biting, the blunt side of his blade was against my throat... There was a hush and the world seemed to stop in dramatic anticipation when the two halves the log were reclaimed by gravity and descended, landing precisely on our heads. The man was silent for a while longer and broke into a grin, which quickly turned into laughter of pure unbound merriment. He slowly took his blade away from my neck and reshethead it. It was then that I decided that this man would be like a brother to me, that I would protect him and follow him faithfully. I licked his face looking in his eyes and there was a moment of rare and complete understanding between two strangers of different species. His laughter subsided and he smiled softly. His eyes reflected my emotions and thoughts, his smile was one of grateful awe and love. Thus began our friendship. Shortly after it was time for us to depart, I had given a thought to my father who would either think me dead in the lake or find the place where I battled Galford. In the latter case he would read the signs and the smells and would understand that I followed in his pawprints and went to live amongst men. I wonder now if he did find that place, it seems I followed his path to its end: I have loved one man like a brother and now that he is dead, I return to the wilds.
I feel the longing upon the primal fabric of my soul, an undeniable pull that leads me back to the land of my birth. The distances completely escape my comprehension, but I know that it is far from this strange land to my native Yukon. My instincts guide me north, besides I have one last duty to fulfill therein in Galford's memory. After several weeks of uneventful travels, and one stolen boat ride later, I find myself in Hokkaido following familiar paths that I had often trod with Galford. I near the akamitsu village where sleeps the woman Galford loved. The first snows of December have just begun to cover the earth, like my winter fur that has just begun to grow and is already showing signs of growing unusually thick and lush. The signs announce the premises of a winter that I know will be exceptionally harsh. I think to myself that food is going to be hard come by. The thin crescent moon lights my way along the mountain paths and beckons me. I have reached the bluffs that dominate the village that I observe a short ways off. Below, I see the clustered wooden cabins, the stables, the sacred tree with it's paper twists next to the clear stream that runs still but will be completely frozen over and snowed under in a couple of weeks. The moon's light flowing over this place is like a lover's careful caress wary not to awaken the sleeper. Just months ago I was down there amongst the people... amongst friends. I have changed, it is time for me to deliver my message, I tilt my head back and howl at the moon. The horses stir in the stable, the dogs bark, and I sense that many of the Ainu below have awakened, they are unaccustomed to wolves and know of us only through legends which depict us as neither good nor evil but wise and dangerous. I feel a vague sadness not to hear a reply to the call, I only sense the tame animals' fears and the peoples' wonder. Heh, a lone figure is silhouetted against the snow in the middle clearing formed by the cabins, she sees me and recognizes me. I smell no fear in her, nor superstitious wonder, I sense a deep sadness. She was always clever when it came to understanding the ways of the wild. She is akin to these mountains beautiful, cold and strong. No tears from her, just the deep and tranquil sadness of one that knows death and accepts it's existence with wisdom. I leave on my journey home, I leave behind that which was once my life with Galford. The coming winter will freeze the waters before me and I will pass beyond... And away home.
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Vansibel
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Mar 18, 2005 11:22:51 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:22:51 GMT -5
-Vision2a
I can only see his silhouette against the moon at which he howls; it seems as if the pale light haloes him, a spirit animal marked by his otherworldly glow. I know why Poppy howls so; the cold wind that carries his message has always spoken clearly for me. "Is that Poppy?" Rimururu's voice heavy with fear asks from the low entrance of our family's cabin... "What's happened?" Her fear is now tinged with worry. Can I tell her the truth? That that silly boy, that nice friendly fool finally got himself into a fight not even Poppy could pull him through. I turn from the howling wolf dog to look unto my younger sister's face; she seems so young... "Galford is dead. Poppy has come to bring us the news and say goodbye." She's strong for her age she bites back her tears and composedly turns to reenter or cabin, her tears will come when she has the privacy for it. My sadness is for Rimu's pain, but I haven't the luxury of expressing it so I bury it deep within and cover it with snow. I know that she harbored emotions for him, not that he ever noticed, infatuated as he was with me... how silly. I sense rather than see the movement behind me and I know Poppy is gone. Where? Home of course... Over unimaginable distances and two frozen oceans. May the spirits that follow him protect him well. Farewell brave soul. I reenter the cabin that is our home. My grandparents, my sister and I are gathered around the fireplace in the center of the room, each dealing with the news in their own manner. Rimururu is staring disconsolately within the flames, later she will go amidst the mountains, snow and ice where she will shed some of her grief, the mountain spirits will help her, they always do. My grandparent's lined and weathered faces show little of their thoughts, but I know them well enough to be aware of what they're thinking. Grandmother's cogitation probably goes along the lines of: "Rimururu is a strong young girl, she'll recover... Just so long as her mourning doesn't keep her from her shaman training. After all, you don't become shaman king by moaning, though that can be part of the process." Grandfather on the other hand would be fretting about the things he would do in the coming days to cheer Rimu up, the sweets he would prepare her and other small thing she enjoys so. As if they felt my scrutinizing gaze, my grandparent's turn as one to face me. My grandmother speaks first as usual. Lost in the creases of her skin, her tattoos give her face added and thoroughly redundant sternness. Her tattooed mustache seems to be merely a shadow on her upper lip, one that seems unwilling play with the flickering firelight "Nakoruru, that boy although he was a..." grandfather had lain a hand on her arm cautioning her to temper her words for Rimururu's sake. Grandmother, who was never one for diplomacy, takes a second to rephrase the rest of her sentence, "... although he was a somewhat reckless and impulsive young emishi (aïnu word for man) he certainly wasn't weak..." Grandfather sighed with a rather sad smile at her attempt at tact but it hardly maters Rimu being too deep within her thoughts to hear much of anything. I know what they want me to do. From the moment I heard Poppy howling I knew what I had to do. It's my responsibility as guardian of our tribe. There is someone out there strong enough to attack and kill Galford and I have to see whether this person is malevolent or not. I nod quietly and grandmother having conveyed her meaning doesn't bother to elaborate needlessly. "I'll set out in the morning." This seems to pull Rimu out from her contemplation for a moment she looks at me with alarm and then realizes why I have to leave, she'll be wanting to come in the morn to avenge Galford, or maybe to escape grandmother's shaman training. Grandfather's voice emerges, rich and mellow, from within his snow-white beard, "Go sleep child. I'll pack your bag, provisions and cook you some nice food for breakfast. I readily comply. As I lay on my bed, I wonder what it would be like to be free of responsibility, free like Mamahaha to fly swiftly over my snow-covered homeland and wonder at its wonders. The mountains whisper me to sleep and I dream of flying like a gyrfalcon amongst them. Unfettered, I fly so very high above the ground; far below I spy the village that seems to be no more than a mere scattering of tiny huts amidst evergreens and spattering of white. The first snow have fallen, "Soon they... we will have to move back to our traditional round homes for winter..." I think to myself fleetingly before being once again lost in the rapture of flight. Above lies naught more than the soft pastel blue sky streaked with white clouds that are lit from behind by the winter sun, such space for to fly, the magnificence of nature, infinity. Before me the mountains stand, their tops already heavily laden with snow. Their majesty and beauty are overwhelming; they are the conscience of the earth made visible unto men, the throne from which the kingly spirits of nature rule mercilessly and justly. I begin to loose myself, my spirit, my awareness... Nature's beauty is thus overpowering, humans are not meant to even glimpse it without paying the tribute. Thinking becomes difficult. Ho? I am not alone? A bird flies beside me, it beckons me down and I follow, away from these rapturous heights. As we glide gracefully downwards letting the wind carry us, I slowly regain my senses. Mamahaha has once again saved me. Is the journey over? Am I to awaken now? It seems not: Mamahaha has begun to fly in earnest and the land rushes by beneath us. Even with the wind behind us as it is we seem to be moving unnaturally fast. The world around us is nothing more than a distorted blur of color. I barely noticed our leaving Hokkaido and crossing the Tsugaru straight (waters separating Hokkaido from Honshu). We follow the northern coast and pass the provinces of Dewa, Echigo, Hokurikudo, Kaga, Echizen, and Tango. Our flight slows in Tajima allowing the land to come into shape beneath us; with a graceful glide, Mamahaha descends into a forest of tall graceful bamboo. I follow after her.
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Vansibel
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Mar 18, 2005 11:23:32 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:23:32 GMT -5
-Vision2b
We land amidst the thick glossy green trunks of the bamboo, just in the exterior periphery of a clearing. Mamahaha seemingly falls asleep as I observe our surroundings. A fresh grave lays slightly excentered in the clearing. The plain wooden marker next to which three sticks of incense burns merely says Galford. Two incongruous monks stand before the grave... In fact, only one of them stands, the other is seated on the shoulder of the first. This is possible for one is huge, almost bear sized while the other is as small as a monkey. I recognize the tiny wizened monk from having encountered him during the second troubles; his name is Kafein Nikotin. He seems comfortably perched upon the huge man's shoulder and smokes his long earthenware pipe blowing fetid blue gray kanji that dissipate in the breeze. The huge man whom I don't recognize is chanting "...Nami amida butsu..." the lotus sutra in his deep rumbling voice as he holds a huge set of rosary beads between his joined hands. “Master, I don't think it's appropriate for you to be smoking whilst I pray..." I hear the large man say respectfully. So, this is one of the old man's disciples... I see Kafein quirk a white pencil thin eyebrow and beneath it his beady brown eye twinkles with humor as he replies: "Gaira, my boy, you're a bright lad but you sometimes lack common sense. The Gaijin is dead... How could the smoke from my pipe bother him when his spirit is already headed for the western paradise and the great wheel of transmigration." At this Gaira slings his huge set of beads over his free shoulder and says after some thought: "This is true master, but it's difficult to concentrate on my prayer with the stench of your smoke..." at this point the wizened monk cackles heartily and conks Gaira on the head with his pipe. "It's part of your training, if you can't concentrate on your prayer in the mere presence of smoke, how well do you think you'll fair in the mephitic miasma of demons?" The burly man looks exaggeratedly shame faced at Kafein's dubious reproaches and asks: "Demons? Is that what killed the gaïjin?" Which seems to exasperate the old man, "Haven't you learned anything? Buddha taught us of the divine eye so as to see the truth... Although you are still young and stupid you should at least be able to read what has happened if not yet perceive your previous incarnations with your third eye!" Kafein laughs and continues, "Buddha was 35 when achieving enlightenment, at the rate you're going you'll be my age and still be a thoughtless ox." Gaira replies, "Yes master. But then what is it we're dealing with?" Kafein assumes an authoritative pose of venerable wisdom, noisily exhales pipe smoke that shapes itself into the kanji for "Aho." (dummy), coughs a bit clearing his throat dramatically and answers with a smirk: "I haven't the vaguest idea." Gaira is so surprised he almost falls and dismounts Kafein who only manages to stay put by dropping his iron pilgrim's rod and pipe and clinging to Gaira's head with both arms. "Aiya! Be careful you great big clumsy ox of a disciple, the floor is soaked with dew and I don't want to dampen the hem of my clothes." The fore mentioned ox, once again sturdily on his two feet, picks up the rod and the pipe so as to return them to their owner, and says with a grin "Yes master... so this leaves you as my equal in this matter despite all your sermonizing of my lack of clear vision and so on..." The elder answers with an amused grin "Insolent brat, maybe in a hundred years you'll be my equal. Now be quiet and don't move while I find out what happened." The old man then stepped up on top of Gaira's head, pulled from his kimono four leaves of yellowed parchment covered with curious squiggly characters (Sanskrit) and turning face each direction he tossed them one by one in the air. The foreign characters on the papers began to burn bright blue as the old man mumbles words in a strange archaic language (Sanskrit) utterly foreign to my ears. The sheets of paper fall to the floor and the impressive burning dies out. "What happened master, what did you learn?" "Nothing, four anthropoid figures were supposed to appear..." came the disgruntled reply. Suddenly the giant gave a baritone shout of fear, "YaAAAh! There's something clinging to my leg! Kafein cackles "Teehihi kof kof... I had forgotten how playful they were... Spirits of the earth leave thy games anon and show thyselves so that we may converse!" Four sleek, hairless, pale blue, diaphanous creatures seemingly appeared around Gaira's feet. They only reached the tall man's knee in height and sported odd slightly luminescent featureless bodies with disproportionate heads. On each of the heads lay a childlike grin mounted by an absence of nose and large eyes that seem like open windows onto a moonless night. The four figures pranced and danced around Gaira's feet. Kafein sighed, "Give them your dango, they expect an offering." (dango is a Japanese sweet in the form of three sticky balls on a stick) "But master I was going to eat them for desert and…" The protests were cut short as Kafein promptly stamped his foot on big man's head. "Yes master..." he replied glumly as he tossed the sweets wrapped in bamboo leaves to the floor. The four figured huddled around the parcel and busily consumed the delicacy with much gusto. Having finished they broke their huddle revealing nothing, they had consumed the container as well as the sweets within. They then piled up on one another’s shoulders and seemingly melted into one entity in all ways similar to four except that now this single entity reached Gaira's shoulder and at it's face was grim and serious. The figure spoke intelligibly albeit in a strangely fluted and melodious voice that reminded me of the voice of the ice in the mountains. "I know the answer to the question you wish to ask. The offering was, true are you willing to hear your answer?" At the mention of the offering the big man looked a bit sore, meanwhile Kafein answers "Yes spirit, we are." And so the ethereal spirit intones "The blue eyed stranger hunted the bereaved death, the broken pair, the innocent madness that is more akin to us than to you though that was not always so. The blue-eyed stranger found what he had hunted and paid full price for his delusion of justice, for interfering with that which must be, and for not heeding the wisdom of his guide. This is all it pleases me to say. Farewell." The old man speaks "Spirit, if you please, answer one more question... What is the name of that which killed the Gaïjin?" "It is lost now the name is, and so the nameless is called by his function, Kubikiri Basara." Having thus spoken the spirit sank into the earth thus departing. After a bit more arguing, the two men depart. Gaira seemed bent on capturing Kubikiri although his master dissuaded him somewhat. I could still hear them arguing about it as they moved away through the bamboo forest. I know as the priests surely know of the Kubikiri's story, only the Gaijin wouldn't have known it. I can just picture him blazing with self-righteousness as he vainly attacked that which is Basara. At least I won't have to leave the village after all. I waken Mamahaha who had fallen asleep beside me, and together we return to the village where I will awaken from this spirit journey and explain what has happened to my family.
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Vansibel
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Mar 18, 2005 11:24:51 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:24:51 GMT -5
-Vision3a
Near by, hidden deep within the forest of tall evergreen bamboo lies Yagyu Jubei’s demesne. A surprisingly modest country house for a samurai of such high standing, but that's the least of the atypical things about the last descendant of the famous Yagyu clan. In his younger days he had lost an eye and earned the reputation of being a hero and a master swordsman in the service of Tokugawa; he has officially retired since then. That fact not withstanding, he stills carries out an occasional confidential mission in times of need for his lord. The shoji (sliding doors made of wood and paper) are open in front of him; he sits inside on a zabuton (floor cushion). A carefully sculpted yet deceivingly simple earthenware cup sits beside him, the green tea it contains still slightly steaming. Before him lies his modest vegetable garden and beyond it the bamboo stands like a liquid green wall. In clearing the space for the garden, one small patch of bamboo had been left at the foot of the walkway near the house. Those three stalks sway gently and his gaze goes to them. His contemplation runs thus: “Hmm… Bamboo is strong and enduring, it keeps its color all year round; it is graceful, as its elongated and supple form shows; and yet despite these things it is humble, as it’s hollow nature demonstrates. Truly if men were more akin to it, wisdom would be a common virtue and then…” The patter of running feet disrupt his train of thought. A messenger arrives, kneels before Yagyu bowing his head to the ground and waits to be addressed as protocol demands… Yagyu, repressing a sigh at the fastidiousness of protocol, ponders to himself “How is it that these messengers always look alike?” Aloud he says sternly, “Arise and state your name and business.”<br>“Yes, lord Yagyu. I am Matamura Kumosuke from the Awa province, messenger at the service of the shogun’s third amanuensis. I was ordered to deliver an urgent letter to the lord Yagyu at the Yagyu castle, I was there informed you resided there but rarely and was directed herein… Forgive me for intruding upon your haven lord Yagyu.” Says the messenger in a somewhat nasal and rural voice. “Give me the letter.” Jubei curtly replies. The messenger advances with bent knees holding the letter to his forehead and proffering it respectfully. “I was told not to expect an answer milord, and thus, with your leave, may I depart?” Yagyu vaguely waves the messenger off and starts reading… As he unties and unfolds the letter he immediately notices that it is both unsealed and unsigned, it's also written in his liege’s distinctively elegant brushstrokes. Sure signs that the letter is utterly confidential, meaning that the messenger could only have been a ninja in a clever disguise (by necessity of discretion), and meaning also that he would be kept busy for an indefinite period of time in the near future. He sips at his green tea enjoying the bitter savor and warmth though all peace had fled from his haven. He starts to read the letter.
Yagyu, We require your services anon and anew. The Christian sorcerer Amakusa Shiro lives still, he plots against us and would attempt upon our lives. We have been informed that his return is not due to a failure on your behalf to have fulfilled your previous mission but through devices of the occult that remain obscure. We order you to dispose of him in such a manner as to disable all further returns and to bring us his head as proof of this. We have been informed by the same source that the sorcerer seeks to obtain a book through the Portuguese merchants in exchange for a sizable amount of gold stolen from our person. The book is foreign and supposedly written Arabic, it is called Nekuronomikonu. We order you to recover our gold and at all costs destroy the book that would supposedly give enormous evil power to any ill intentioned who would wield it. Failure will be unacceptable.
The old samurai is once more called to battle; he does not know that the oncoming war’s first victim lies buried in the very woods that harbor his home. His orders are both very explicit and yet vague, he wonders where to begin. He decides to ascertain the whereabouts of the book, perhaps by acquiring it himself, and then awaiting for the sorcerer to come looking for it. He notices that his cup, its contents being drunk, is empty and that the twilight preceding dusk has already fallen above the leafy tops of the gently stirring bamboo. Tomorrow he would depart for the Yagyu castle and question the old castle scribe about the book and then onwards south to the Kyushu Island, more precisely to Nagasaki the only port city open to foreigners. An hour before dawn… Yagyu has already eaten his breakfast of raw egg, diced daïkon (pickled radish) and natto (fermented beans) mixed into a bowl of fresh white rice, followed by a broiled river trout and accompanied with miso soup. He dons his unpretentious brown haori (jacket) over his black hakama and reddish brown kimono; his clothes reflect his being, unpretentious yet made from good thick hardwearing cotton… Well made, made to last. He fastens his straw tabi (sandals), checks on his swords as they snuggly sit in his obi, then puts the heavy wooden shutters up over the front of the doors and finally sets out. The grass bordering the path is wet with dew and the stars overhead fade with the imminence of dawn. The samurai had only set out for half an hour when he came upon the clearing wherein lay the tomb. Nonplussed he read the marker: “Galford… You never should have defied the shogun’s ban of foreigners beyond Kyushu. Hmmph, gaijin ninjas… what next?” He clicks his tongue in distaste and then, aided by the rising sun's red light filtering through the bamboo, he casts an expert’s glance upon the floor reading what prints are there… He recognizes those of Poppy and briefly wonders what became of him; he also recognizes two other sets of prints, one ridiculously small and the other ridiculously large. He chuckles as he recognizes the combination as that of his old friend Kafuin Nicotin and his giant disciple and nephew Kafuin Gaira… His mirth dies and a frown finds its way to his face when he realizes that there is no trace of Galford’s attacker though the tracks clearly show that the gaijin did do battle here… The two monks obviously didn't kill Galford, they merely buried him and went away, but then… who did? Puzzled, he decides to leave this mystery temporarily unsolved, as it doesn't seem to have any immediate bearing on his current mission. Thus, promising himself to question the monk the next time they meet he moves on…<br> Long left behind the peaceful bamboo forest deep in the Yagyu valley northeast of Nara, and with it his home. The sun overhead proclaims noon and the time for a break; the changing of the scenery announces his approach of the castle he will reach. The Koyagyu castle nestles in the Kasagi Mountains but he will reach it only in the middle of the afternoon. For the time being he is in the foothills of the mountains near the Kasagi village that the locals call the Kambe domain in remembrance of the past time when the land was divided into domains. Ten minutes from the village, as he followed the dirt path on the river's edge, he paused to observe an unusual young man standing thigh deep in the water. The young man's torso was bare and his uncommonly well developed muscles glistened with sweat under the midday sun's glare. His face was unshaven, and his unkempt hair tied back in long a sloppy ponytail; it swished as he turned his head about to keep track of something Yagyu's eye could not even see. Suddenly the young man's flashed out and seemed to grab at the air. It was then that Yagyu understood that the young man had just caught a fly. As the old samurai wondered why the strange stranger was catching flies, the aforementioned fly was carefully put onto the water. The young man then grasped a long piece of drift wood that he had previously planted into the river's bottom next to where he was standing. The village is a modest assembly of wooden houses on either side of earthen road. It sports an inn, a small Buddhist temple, a scattering of shops, an official building, a restaurant and even its own pleasure house. These things make the village larger and more important than any of villages nearby but it certainly fails to qualify it as a city. Yagyu walks down the earthen road for the first time in ten years and smirks to see how little things have changed. The ageless priest who had been old as far Jubei or anyone else could remember sits at the exact same spot upon the wooden steps of the temple as he had when Jubei passed that way in the opposite direction, ten years before, after resigning his position in favor of his son at the ripe age of forty. The priest seems to be peacefully resting in a sunbeam, he spends most of the good weather days thus when not occupied by his religious functions. Jubei chuckles a little to himself and stomps decidedly off towards the restaurant.
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Vansibel
Advanced
[-Legend-]
Intellectus Deconstructis
Posts: 105
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Visions
Mar 18, 2005 11:26:06 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:26:06 GMT -5
-Vision3b
As he removes his straw sandals, he notices five other pairs which means that there are other guests. By the make and state of the sandals Yagyu deduces that the other guests are mere chojin (townsmen), rather unkempt ones at that, or perhaps some of those disreputable ronin who seem to infest all of Japan since Sekigahara (one of the last feudal battles) and the beginning of Tokugawa peace. The battle of Sekigahara made it so that all the surviving warriors on the losing side who refused to commit seppuku with their lords were wandering the countryside in assumed identities and various guises. Likewise the Tokugawa peace made it so that the lords had no need to hire young aspiring fighters; and thus left them without means of achieving a proper form of employ such as being hired as samurai instead of which they would turn to roguish ways and live by their wiles. A quick look inside the restaurant's main room reveals four shabbily dressed young men with swords seated around a table eating and drinking rambunctiously. Yagyu grimly shakes his scarred head, outraged at the thought of ronin daring to enter the region which he had always kept peaceful and free of troubles even when feudal war was devastating the country. A childhood memory surfaces in his mind. He recalls a walk he had had once, long ago, with his grand uncle who had retired from politics to become a hermit tea master. His name was Yagyu Muneyoshi Sekishusaï, he was eighty at the time and often claimed he would live to be a hundred. The yagyu lords had a history of being long lived; living beyond seventy was a common thing amidst them. Jubei, on the other hand, was only three years past his first hakama (baggy pants, first pair of which boys are given during a ceremony when they are five). He was wearing an indigo hakama and a carmin kimono with a matching haori (traditionally, young nobles dressed colorfully). His long unshaven hair was gathered in a glossy black ponytail that swished softly as he walked (the shaven head and topknot called sakayaki was first done at the genbuku ceremony where the 16 year old boy officially entered alduthood). The elder Yagyu lord and the eight year old Jubei had gone for a walk upon the lower slopes of the Kasagi mountains when Sekishusaï had taught the boy a lesson about life that would stay with him throughout his. They had just reached a slight overhang that afforded them a breathtaking view of the valley, the village far bellow, and forested slopes that mark the horizon on both sides of the valley when Sekishusaï called for a halt. He took a seat on a boulder and motioned for Jubei to take a seat beside him. The old man gazed intently at the beautiful scenery with a warm smile and at first, the young Jubei followed suit. Ten minutes passed, thirty, then forty... Still the old man hadn't moved, and so young Jubei began to squirm with boredom for truly he saw little point in just gazing about and would rather have been exploring the woods and climbing the nearby trees, only respect for his great grand uncle kept young Jubei from interrupting Sekishushai's contemplation by asking for permission to go play. After two hours or so the child was about ready to explode with agitation and then Sekishusai slowly turned towards the child beamed at him with a gentle smile that was permeated with softness, patience and warmth. In Jubei's memory, Sekishusai had an air of Buddhahood even more so with the sunbeam that seemed to have chosen to halo the gentle old man. "So Jubei, what have you learned about yourself. Have you learned your lesson child?" The blank look of guilt and surprise on the boy's face answered more eloquently than his words, "I'm sorry, I didn't hear you say anything." "Not all lessons need to be heard for to be learned, not all teachers need to speak for to teach. For those who are aware wisdom can be grasped from thin air." was the old man's cryptic reply before he resumed looking in the distance. "I... I don't understand." "Think about it, take your time.", Sekishusaï answered without even looking away from the horizon. The young Jubei furrowed his brows in concentration and buried his chin in his palm as he tried to understand what he had just been told. Time passed, the sun had completed its journey eastwards and the slim crescent of the new moon was high overhead when Jubei finally lifted his chin from his cupped palms. "I understand now." Young Jubei said quietly. "Why don't you explain it to me, child." The old man said with a soft smile. "Haï... -Not all lessons need to be heard for to be learned - means that lessons aren't always words spoken aloud. - not all teachers need to speak for to teach - means that not all teachers are people and that the teacher doesn't always have to be the one giving the lesson: the student can acquire his lessons for himself. (but this means that the student must choose both lessons and teachers carefully doesn't it uncle?) - For those who are aware wisdom can be grasped from thin air- means that if the student is paying attention to everything around him he can learn from anything. That's correct isn't it uncle?" the boy said, smiling proudly. The elderly man laughed softly, "Your words were true, but they were naught more than my own reflected by you. You've demonstrated having understood the finger but where dost it point? Have you discovered that?" "Uhm..." the proud smile on Jubei's face faded away and was replaced by a serious frown of concentration to which it was yet unaccustomed, "... I think I have. It's about patience and attentiveness isn't it. You asked me what I had learned about myself, I... uh... suppose that from the fact that I had lost patience after only a few hours teaches me that I lack patience and if I lack patience I can't pay enough attention to everything around me..." young Jubei stated uncertainly. The old man laughed kindly "That is correct, but if the finger were pointing to a star, you'd just have taken the first step onto the stairs reaching the heavens. The first step is to look away from the finger. You've learned something through this first step, apply it and climb the stairs…" the old man trailed off and seemed to have returned to his contemplation. A few minutes later he murmured, as if to himself, "Aren't the trees magnificent, few are the regions than can boast having trees so many and so old as herein." Meanwhile the young Jubei wrinkled his youthful brow in concentration, pinched the base of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger and smoke trickled from his ears as he strived to find the answer. The old man and the grandson stayed thus for long while, according to legend they stayed thus for four days, in truth it was probably more akin to that many hours. "Aha! I got it!" he said he snapped his closed fist into his open palm with a toss of his ponytail. "The trees here are older because they haven't been killed or burned by marauding armies in wars. Which means that this region has been in peace for a long long time, it also means that the commoners live well and that haven't had the need to chop wood to earn a living. This teaches me about myself that I come from a family who have, for many generations, preserved the peace and brought prosperity to the people by their wise governing. But then if peace is the way of prosperity should I not abandon my studies of the way of the sword and the art of war that stems from it?" he queried, his two youthful brown eyes open wide with the surprise of discovery and revelation. "It is a thought worthy of you child but no, do not. Do you believe that a potter could sculpt a teacup if he had neither his hands nor the tools his trade? Of course, he may still be able to dream his creation but without his hands and tools his dream could never achieve reality. Like wise, the way of the sword is the hand by which you may sculpt the clay that is this region, that is your home, that is your birthright, that is the life of a warrior. The way of the sword is much more than mere exchanges of blows or even knowledge of war strategy, the way of the sword is knowledge of life and a means of sculpting it into a work of art that is ever perfectible until it reaches the unattainable perfection. Do not lose your self on the way and become a potter whose sole tool is a hammer, with the power to control and sculpt life comes the power to take life. You will often find yourself in need to do so and thus, when you must, do so with no hesitation nor doubt, killing is normal part of the path but it is never the objective in itself. You must ponder this deeply... Child you have shown tonight (for night had indeed fallen) that you have intelligence beyond your years if you strive upon your path you have the means of becoming a worthy descendant of your family: the Yagyu. Now why don't we go home and grab some grub; all this seriousness has made me hungry..." the old man gravely concluded his eyes brimming with laughter. "Lets grab some grub indeed old uncle, after which I'm probably going to have to kill again... I won't hesitate." says Jubei quietly to himself with a smirk. A much older man that has since learned, created, achieved and lost much including an eye. He is seated at one of the low tables in the corner of the room. The nervous shop keeper with shaky hands brings him his order of white rice, tsunemono (pickled veggies), and miso soup with tofu. He keeps casting anxious glances over his shoulder to the table where the ronin are rudely and loudly eating and drinking as he sets the food in front of the grizled one-eyed samurai. Having delivered the food and collected the money Jubei set on the table as payment the keeper scurries hurriedly away into a back room. Jubei frowns his distaste at the sound of the ronin's ribald rivelry.
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Vansibel
Advanced
[-Legend-]
Intellectus Deconstructis
Posts: 105
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Visions
Mar 18, 2005 11:27:23 GMT -5
Post by Vansibel on Mar 18, 2005 11:27:23 GMT -5
-Vision4
The late after noon sun painted the sky with colors of copper and gold, it illuminated the shabby interior of the restaurant as it came through the window. The tatami (straw mats) were stained and gray with age, the wooden walls were dusty and hadn't been washed in many years, the square lacquered plates were unclean and food upon them disgraceful. Yagyu frowned remembering how well kept old Tamagura's establishment had been the last time that he came, ten years past. "Now the place seems squalid and kept to image of the four slovenly ronin raucously drinking..." Jubei thought to himself, "...Three slovenly ronin raucously drinking." He mentally corrected himself. One of the ronin though drinking in great amounts, as the collection of empty sake jar in front him demonstrated, was quiet and sat straight-backed with his legs neatly tucked beneath him. His companions on the other hand were red faced from shouting and drinking, they were sprawled untidily on the floor noisily singing lewd songs or bickering amongst themselves. Suddenly, the whining of the squeaky hinged wooden shutter blowing in the wind was heard. The noisy ronin had noticed one-eyed samurai and had abruptly begun whispering to one another as they eyed the fighter's precious katana and wakizashi (long and short Japanese sword). The tender had vanished into the back room. After a few moments of whispered conversation the previously noisy ronin left hastily leaving behind the one that was drinking quietly, who hadn't stopped drinking or even acknowledged his companions urgent whisperings... Meanwhile Jubei scowled with disgust at his food; he grasped his plate, lifted it and moved his empty hand as if he were tossing something against a wall. His single eye widened with surprise, where had his plate gone he wondered. "Since you aren't eating that, do you mind if I do?" asked the young man who had already begun stuffing the food in his mouth. Jubei was about to answer him when three consecutive "Hsst!" interrupted him. The sly looking, sly ill shaven faces of the ronin on their scrawny necks had popped out one after the other and one on top of the other on the side of the doorframe. They were trying to get the young man's attention. "Excuse me, I have the impression they're trying to draw my attention." the youth said blandly as he went to join the three ronin at the door with the plate of rice and tsunemono in his hand. "What... What kind of simpleton ronin is this?" Jubei wondered. His outrage at the ronin's impudence had been replaced with curiosity at his behavior. Meanwhile the ronin had finished their whisperings and the young man grinned and loudly replied, "Sure I'll tell him!" The ronin's faces, as if frightened by sound of the young man's voice, vanished from the doorframe. The man calmly walked towards Jubei. "Those guys want me to tell you that if you don't come out right away they're going to kill you." Said the man casually as he skillfully snapped up five live flies off his rice with an equal number of gestures with his chopsticks a trick he had learned from a travelling swordsman called Miyamoto Musashi. Jubei took a long speculative look at the young man showing none of the amusement he felt at the idea of those pitiful excuses for ronin killing him. "Why do you think they want me to come out?" Jubei asked mildly. "I suppose they want to draw you into the nearby woods where they've been camping with fifty of their friends, then kill you and finally steal your swords. In other words, I'd say it's a trap. Though of course even sixty of them wouldn't stand a chance against you." The young man replied evenly with a broad grin as he cleaned his chopsticks with a handkerchief. Jubei took an even longer speculative look at the young man as he tried to guess what his intentions were, what he was after, what he was worth. He also took note of the man's grimy black and white training and his unshaven head that clearly said ronin; yet he also took note of his muscular shoulders, his well made sword, his hale complexion and bright eyes that suggested that he was something more than just a ronin. "Why are you telling me this? Don't you think you're betraying your friends?" asked a puzzled Jubei. "Friends? Oh you thought that... Naah, they were just buying me a drink. As to why I'm telling you this, they said they would get me all the sake I could drink in a night if I delivered their message." The man replied between hearty bites of crunchy vegetables and white rice. "Do you know who I am?" Jubei asked suddenly, wondering why the ronin wasn't afraid for his life. "Sure I do! You're Yagyu Jubei, one of the best swordsmen on this side of mount Fuji." the young man replied with an admiring grin and a mouthful of cucumber stuck halfway from the plate to his mouth. "Remember how fifteen yeas ago you saved the shogun's life by killing four ninjas in Edo? Or do you remember that time in Koga when a jealous lord had hired assassins disguised as Kabuki actors. You killed seven that time. Seven!" He nodded with a smile as he chewed his mouthful of cucumber displaying five fingers and two chopsticks. "You sure do seem to know a lot about me, but I don't know anything about you... Who are you?" Jubei asked slowly in a voice laden with suspicion and danger. The man, as if impervious to any form of danger, answered with a bright smile "Me? Oh, I'm nobody." in a tone that somehow managed to sound modest and boastful at the same time. "You said you accepted to deliver their message for sake?" "That's right." "Since I don't have time to deal with these men what would it cost me for you to explain to them who I am or scare them off or something?" "For you I'll do that for free." The young man replied with an earnest grin as he finished off the last of the food and made to leave.
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Shift
Beginner
Oldboy
Posts: 15
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Visions
Mar 23, 2005 23:53:28 GMT -5
Post by Shift on Mar 23, 2005 23:53:28 GMT -5
PARAGRAPH BREAK!
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p100q
Advanced
Zealot
Hibari~hm, Interesting...
Posts: 130
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Visions
Apr 13, 2005 0:41:52 GMT -5
Post by p100q on Apr 13, 2005 0:41:52 GMT -5
I am having a hard time.....
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