AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic

Last edited by Liz on Thu, Jul 19 2012, 6:51 AM, edited 2 times in total.

The day after a great wave disrupts the normal afternoon of the small fishing village of Uhm, a ship enters port and begins unloading a cargo that includes a dozen or so unusual passengers. Clearly identifiable as Easterners, their oriental heritage is evidenced by their foreign dress, their exotic weapons, and the unfathomable language in which they speak among each other. They seem to size up the town within a few hours, and over the course of the next day or so, they practically take over the Bad Dragon.

Over the next days, the Bad Dragon becomes a veritable Kozakuran beehive, as the clan of easterners begins to buzz in and out, about their various errands. Observant onlookers may note that that they seem to give the greatest deference to a young man in green armor and a delicate teenage girl.

The young, sharp eyed man Norio, can often be seen walking the streets, almost patrolling them as if looking to quell any unrest. As there has been none so far, his vigil has been an easy one. He is always armed, a pair of swords fixed in his sash while on the other side what can only be described as a blunt looking knife with a prong coming off of one side of it.

The old bearded man Zanzu is often seen standing or meditating in front of the dojo, tending to his chickens every so often, or bathing in the stream in his undies. He remains quiet for the most part, only to speak when other members of his clan are around.

Could be a spoonful of diamonds
Could be a spoonful of a gold
Just a spoonful of your precious love
Satisfies my soul
Men lie about that
Some of them cry about that
some of them die about that
Everybody fighting about that spoonful.
-Howlin' Wolf

Call it now, Fishing Village. I spoke in my tongue to a local boy who I knew could not understand me, his face glowing like a lantern in broad day light. A look of embarrassment. The kind of look that reminded me of my brothers' beet red faces as we raced down the road toward home. Akimitsu was always faster than Jurukawa. That was the way it had to be. That was the way it was. Call it now, Fishing Village. Not Uhm. I tried again. Nothing. I took his net with several crabs pinching for each others arms, as if to kick free the sword of a warrior, so they could pluck out an eye, a jaw, a tuft of hairs. I took the net of crabs and bowed, not knowing it was meal enough for his whole family and meant for their supper. He left with with fearful eyes.

I paused on the thought of growing in a small family, what that would be like: a night without war, a bed to myself and dreams maybe, dreams not held in the slipknot of competition, ones that were not wagered against the branches of my own dread siblings. Dreams would come easy, like the tears of dew strewn across the fields of morning, every morning, with never a sign of rain or storm or typhoon to carry them down into the soil of my heart. No, not my heart. My heart is a Colosseum. Where the pieces that weigh in are carved asunder. They are the pieces of my clan, the last words of my father (What were they?) my sister and dead brothers. I take it all in, like the net of crabs and boil them into something definitive, something I make sense of: dead meat.

Sorry child, these crabs are not for you, they are mine to soak and crack and eat. Others need me, others need to eat first. Your family does not. That's fine. Your family is not needed, they can soak and be cracked and eaten too. I tell him again, "Call it now, Fishing Village. Because it is no longer yours."

-Kamakiri Ojimoto

//I assume that this topic is also open for those who encounter the Mantis Clan in Uhm. It was fun fun fun.

Dáin had just stepped off Gustons ship from Cordor to Uhm on his way to explore the coast road heading north. Getting up to the cart drivers he noticed a group of foreign looking humans that he did not get the time to study before a woman in typical sailors clothes complimented him on his magnificient, feathered hat. Second to his beard, his blue hat is Dáins great pride, and he imediatly came to like this woman who introduced herself as Darby. Not only a woman of great tastes in hats, she was also a captain. Not bad for a tall-legger.

Meanwhile, while Dáin and Darby exchanged pleasentries in the manner that landbound sailors do, the group of foreigners had gathered in a pack and eyed Dáin with hostility. Dangerous muttering in foreign language finally drew Dáins attention, as did the drawing of steel by the foreigners. Without provocation, the appearent leader of the foreigners closed in on Dáin with his katana drawn, and started to scream what must have been a challenge or a battle cry in their strange language. Baffeled by this behaviour usually seen among orc and goblinkind and not humans, Dáin drew steel himself and roared a dwarven curse at the charging man, and steel clashed with steel.

The sudden attack left Dáin surprised, and he decided to fight defensively until he could make sense of the situation. Only moments after he made the first elegant parry of an incoming blow, a second man joins the fray and attempts to flank Dáin. Seeing himself flanked, Dáin resorts to his special whirlwind manouver, in which he manages to knock out the second attacker with a well-aimed chin jab with his buckler in what must have been a rather curious sight of a dwarf spinning around himself, rapier flashing, buckler punching, and the feathered hat adding to the bravour.

With only the first attacker left, the fight turns to a stalemate as neither dwarf or man manages to make significant bypasses of the others defense. A battle that could have become one of attrition abruptly ends when Darby, through magic unknown to Dáin, puts his attacker in a state of daze, leaving Dáin with time and oppertunity to knock him out cold with a well placed pommel-hit.

The militiamen finally step in, and the foreigners are commanded to pain a sum of gold in fines to the city, as well as the symbolic sum of five hundred crowns to Dáin in damages. The foreigners comply with the first, but toss the gold owed to Dáin on the ground infront of him as a gesture of contempt. Dáin returns the gesture by spitting at their gold and leaving the town by cart while warning them that this is not their town, and that dwarves are not to be trifled with.

Leaving the town behind, Dáin is still in confusion of why he was attacked, and heads back to Barak Runedar to make his report.

One afternoon, Marcus arrives in Uhm with a parcel and approaches the nearest eastener, asking for the "Mantis-Dojo" and the "princess".

The drowess Zran'ea leaves the sea side cave, her faithful spider too busy with its latest meal. Hearing rumors of these foriegners she wishes to meet and converse with them, thinking they may be an asset, a means to an end. Assured that her charm and unearthly beauty will open most doors for her.

Her house and sorcere brooches removed.

Webs within her own tangled cavernous mind.

Maasuke can be seen more regularly around the village, he would offer the villagers a warm enough smile should they look his way, but spend the majority of his time walking the peremeter of the town and the dojo. He seems to have taken up collecting eggs, should they be left on the ground, they are then checked to ensure they haven't spoilt before searching out Suki so she can do what women do best with eggs. Cook!

Sei would also start to become a prominent figure around the village, along side his brother Maasuke. Speaking with villagers politely enough if they ever deigned to engage him in conversation most of his time. Most of his time though would be spent on other matters though - sat in meditation outside their 'dojo' or practising a variety of flowing kata when not skirting around the perimeter.

He would start to spend more time nearer the docks, watching the fishermen quietly as they brought in whatever had been caught - or those that docked from various ships but would not interrupt or get in the way in any fashion.

The willowy young girl in the bright blue kimono can be observed most evenings sitting outside the building appropriated by the clan, concentrating intensely on a painting in progress or a book written in curious Eastern characters, or perhaps merely gazing distantly into the frequent rain. During these times, her position seems to form the hub of the clan's bustling comings and goings, with the samurai faithfully pausing to offer her deference and attend to her whims as they go about their tasks. She's almost never alone, most frequently seen accompanied by the looming presence of her vigilant bodyguard, or the more elegant company of her handmaiden/tutor.

Zelly, wearing her finest suit and not minding at all that it gets drenched in the steady downpour, travels to Uhm after hearing tales of the newcomers. After being greeted politely and with unexpected regard, she introduces herself and accepts an invitation to meet with the daimyo at a later time. Surprised by their fine treatment of her, she leaves the fishing village and awaits their promised summons.

Two nights after the brick-throwing incident, the area of the roof near the chimney of Dojo Mantis finds itself trapped with a fairly standard frost-style trap.

Of late now, Sei could be seen going into the large barn which the Clan seemed to have purchased. He would take a variety of rugs and cushions in and spend much time before he later emerged. Seeking out Suki and the clans various women (aside from the princess of course) he would direct them in to give the place a much needed woman's touch.

Most of his time would now be devoted on this new barn, rather than past activities in the village, ensuring that the immediate area around it is spruced up a little while women deal with the inside. The locals still greeted pleasantly enough, when passed.

At dawn on the fifth morning after the Easterners arrive in Uhm, the princess tasks one of her samurai to carry a message to the office of the Mayor. It's inked delicately onto a curled parchment, written in short lines arranged vertically so that the scroll unrolls into a tall, narrow strip. The words are carefully chosen by the princess to convey respect and formality, though whether those concepts translate well remains to be seen.

Esteemed Magistrate:

Please be invited

to enter our home

when the moon rises

and receive of us

tea and a dinner

that we may know you,

that you may know us.

王女カマキリあいみ

Princess Kamakiri Aimi

I got a stone where my heart should be
I got a stone where my heart should be
And nothing I do will make you love me
I'd leave this town, break all my ties
Be no more use for any disguise
Lies, lies, lies. Oh! The lies
-The Black Keys

I did no wrong and the tea was exceptional. My guests sat with grinning cheeks and we spoke politely about the Water Village of the Hidden Ones. Then, a terrible sound behind me: a wind chime of anger. The brick landed next to my lap and a voice yelled something I did not know but understood all the same: Leave. The dojo was silent and even the torch flame did not seem to flap. (The spirits were scared as we all had been.) How do I face this disgrace? My home was attacked, my people targeted. I tell the brothers Shimoada and the ninja to find whoever did this and to bring them to me: I admit spirits, I was angry, and a wave rose inside me like the one which took our home. But this one boiled, a tsunami of blood, thick and torrid. I stood up and drew my blade and entered Fishing Village in rage. My servants squander about like mad cocks looking for the culprit. I join them in their inquisition, but there is no one culprit. All the unfamiliar faces I see regard us with disgust: regard us with ugly. They hate our skin and our eyes, they hate our language and customs. They only anticipate some kind of harm, I can sense that, spirits. Chaos guides them to do as they do. Chaos is the bread of these lands. They will not understand the kindness of change and offering. Change is a wind that no bird will open its wings for.

We speak to one whose fingers are dirty with soot. His face is puffy and lying but we will bring him no honor. It is not time for our way to be law, we know. Behind us, the roof of the dojo is heavy with smoke, rising like a black yeast. We run inside to the heavy scent like gunpowder. Dozens of eggs are burning in the fireplace, dropped below the chimney, a second offense. The scent chokes the women who I make stay and clean the mess. The statues of our gods stink like the void, their faces untiring to stoic calm. How many eggs or bricks or blades must enter their home to change their minds? I tolerate these attacks because I must. I must be the example the spirits intended for Mantis Clan. But I tolerate, patiently, silently, with a storm in my throat. No words will trade with these barbarians. Only screams will do.

-Kamakiri Ojimoto

Daily it seems new and interesting ways of dishonoring the recently arrived are invented. During a recent evening a poorly butchered pig is left upon their doorstep by the Shadow of a Shadow. The stink of it is unbelievable. The next day the milita calls upon the occupants of the house informing them that they have been "Fined five hundred gold for keeping an untidy porch".

Suki, being the woman that she is, would have answered the door when the militia called upon the house. With a quick glance over her shoulder to see if any of the men of the house hovered near her, she quickly paid the militia and set about cleaning up the porch area. It was her hope to keep the situation from escalating more that day.

Having just brought the last remaining property in Uhm, the barn opposite the new "dojo", the Shimaoda brothers would begin work on renovating it. They take it in turns, when one is inside decorating the new abode, the other would be outside patrolling the perimeter, offering warm smiles to those that glance his way before heading in to take over.

Despite the locals resistance to the interlopers it seems that they are here to stay.

With all these newcomers coming to gawk at the easterners from the lawn of the dojo, Zanzu makes it a point to stare back, along with letting his panther sniff them at an unconfortable distance. When no new arrivals are there to annoy the clan with their presense, Zanzu's panther can be seen patroling the dojo.

And even now, the Shimaoda brothers seemed relentless in their activity, doing more and more new things. Now, when not renovating and decorating their new place they would often seen been tending to a strange girl when she was present. The girl would often be seen running laps around the village at the brothers behest or being taught quiet methods of meditation which were done rather openly in front of the village for any who cared to do more than insult and gawk at the foreigners.

The training, whatever the reason may be for it, seems to be rigorous and kept up for some time with no relent from either of them.

viewtopic.php?f=38&t=66865

With each word
Your tenderness grows
Tearing my fear apart
And that laugh
That wrinkles your nose
Touches my foolish heart

Lovely never never change
Keep that breathless charm
Won't you please arrange it
Cause I love you
Just the way you look tonight
-Billie Holiday

I met him on the road, a boy in old skin. He held his sword like a ship's oar, lifting it slowly and resting it on his shoulder as if that alone was a great feat. It was a very large sword and he himself was not small. His armor was made of armor that was polished handsomely. So much arrogance. Everyone in the chaos lands carried themselves as they were different than the rest: as if they were a hero in some fashion. They walk blindly, a fine piece of armor, but the inside, their hearts were all tormented. One has no reason to live if he does not act in their world, it was easy to read in his sweat and pink face. So I would honor his wishes. He drove his sword at me, hitting the earth. I step behind him, and push my blade into the back of his knee and he soon cripples, understanding the faults of his heavy suit. His helm falls off his head, and his hair is long and boyish. Greased like a wagon's wheel. I remove my sword and let him limp for his sword. He groans and makes a bitter face as though this was a glory he would walk away from, a story to tell his fellow bar patrons and women. I give his back a kick and he rolls over with his sword over his chest like a shield. I step on the flat of the blade and stare into his wincing eyes, already wet with tears. He opens his mouth, panting and whimpering, calling for mother. I push the blade through his mouth and out the back of his skull like carving the top off a summer squash. His jaws quickly begin to flood with blood and he kicks his feet like a child does, protesting with a temper-tantrum. He tries to pull at the blade with his iron gauntlets, but he will not hoist this stake. I twist it to end his screaming and I watch as his tongue go limp beneath my blade. His whines slow, and now his eyes can speak, like a child being told the end of a bed time story: slowly calming, ready to face the darkness of night and sleep alone until morning. He is ready to die. I remove the blade and walk off his body. That knowing, that last knowing gaze, is all that I care to see. Death comes and their fairytale ends. Their eyes understand in that last dirty ounce of life, there are things more important beyond the curtain of death. Their honor is retained through my blade, their spirit becomes one with mine, and they submit to death comprehending: it is not their own story they belong to, but mine.

And so it comes to pass that one evening, the easterners, looking careworn and road-weary, gather in the fields north of Cordor, with everything they have left carried heavy in their hands and packs and hearts. By the fishing pond outside the Cordor gates, they discuss their fate in tones ranging from solemn to tempestuous, though nothing can hope to be decided. The clan disperses for the night, each to their own individual grief, or shame, or quietly smouldering rage.

Hearing of the gathering clan of Kara Turan refugees at the verge of Cordor's border, Marcus travels there. Though he wears his guard armor, he does not wear a helmet - as usual. If permitted to approach, he speaks directly to the princess.

"Princess, I have heard of the event in Uhm. Know that you and your kin are welcome to enter and stay in Cordor while you honour the Commonwealth's laws. No doubt you will find the development of the city and its opportunities of greater interest to you than those of a fishing village."

One of the Easterners can be seen in Wharftown moving his meager possessions into a small rented property in wharftown, across the road from the Temple of Selune. He can be seen dispatching a Shadowdemon out of Darkhold who had been molesting people of the town, and then taking the fight to them through the wharftown cave.

Upon his return, he pays his respects in the temple, leaving a donation before moving around the town introducing himself to his neighbours. From then on, he can often be found outside the property, ready to answer questions about him and his people.

After a long exploration of the isle's wilds, the clan of easterners finally arrives in what remains of the village of Cliffside, finding it deserted but still at least partially habitable. After some deliberation, they come to the decision that the best way to avoid strife with the local population is to simply... not have any local population. That night, a crowd of tents springs up, and the lights and sounds of human activity return to the village's empty lanes.

The tents and lights were taken note of down the coast. Perhaps not greatly perhaps not with any grave concern but eyes that seen in the dark and could pin point burning lanterns in the pitch black of deep night sharper then any human now watched their arrival of new neighbors down the bay.

An occasional visitor who meanwhile has taken that route into her partol would be the chultan druidess and her large feline companions. Knowing some of the easteners already, she would however only greet them politely before heading her way, unless she was approached or she noticed any trouble.

Late at night, after the last of her clan has fell into bed, Suki made her way out of Cliff Village, her hands holding tightly to the object within her kimono. Her face did not betray the emotions boiling over inside her. There was naught that a woman could do in the company of samurai; such was their way. The ways of the assassin, however, did not differentiate between genders. Only talent mattered. This was why she mourned the loss of Shimaoda Maasuke. He was able to see beyond the limitations of his station, and he paid for it with his life.

What a curse it was for her to have served under two lords. She had grown far too used to the ways of Ojimoto's father. She did not recognize the near-sightedness that clouded Ojimoto's vision, at least in her eyes she thought bitterly. To be one of the only ones left not bound by the code of Bushido was a burden that the woman was not certain she could carry. Her training, her experiences, her observations, and even her own gender forced her to hold far different world views than her master. She could not speak of them, though. Not now. Her tongue had just killed a good man.

The woman walked swiftly, her footsteps carrying her west, far from Cliff Village, far from her pain. It was after midnight when the woman stopped walking. She stood outside the walls of Fishing Village and frowned. She had not meant to go back there, but as she gazed upon the place, she knew of no better place to do what must be done. Fishing Village was supposed to be one of the sites of Maasuke's shame, but the young woman saw it not as shame, but as virtue. She had recognized that the wanton killing of fishermen who were merely scared of what they did not know would not be honorable. After all, was it not true of the bushido that you do not strike down he who cannot defend himself?

The other cause of Maasuke's death was not so easy to absolve him from in her eyes. It is true the woman shared the blood of an oni. But was she like the oni from home? Bishop-san did not choose the oni, she chose the Mantis Clan. It was the oni that chose her. And was it not honorable to protect someone from the oni if they could not do it themselves?

All these thoughts and more roiled through Suki's mind like a kettle of boiling water left too long over a hot fire. Her anger and grief threatened to spill out over her serene visage, and she almost let them win over her spirit. It was through sheer determination to see that the rest of Mantis Clan remained safe that she did not. If she alone was able to act without honor, then who would see the family safe if she was gone?

From within the folds of her kimono, Suki drew out a small paper lantern. She quickly lit the candle held within and let go of the lantern, watching it float off over Fishing Village. They would not know what it was or what it meant, but the light was not meant for them. The light was meant for Maasuke. She watched silently from the shadows of the forest outside Uhm as the lantern slowly rose up and over the village.

Finally, she spoke her first words since the gruesome scene in Cliff Village.

"Here your spirit belongs, Maasuke-san. Not in Cliff Village. Here you made your stand and protected the people who are only guilty of not knowing us. It is here I lay you to rest so that the kami can see you for who you truly are...

...Farewell, Shimaoda Maasuke."

The wind was howling at the storehouse, the kami were drawing closer to take him to whatever lay beyond. He could feel death at his heels upon a path once trod in solitude. The sound of the wooden jetty bumping beneath his feet was the sweetest melody his ears had ever experienced, the whistle of the birds within the trees making ready for the cold night was akin to a symphony played by the finest orchestral outfit. The smell of the salty gulf and the breeze flowing between his fingertips lulled him into a serene acceptance of what was to come. The kami had shown mercy in his final moments, they had come to join him on his final journey.

Suddenly, a trio of goblins dashed from the tree line toward him. He dispatched them kindly, snatching their weapons skilfully before sending them back into the woods with bruises and broken bones. There would be no more killing, no more senseless slaughter. He looked up the hill to where the clan was waiting. He reached down to his belt to realise the families wakizashi was tied securely to Sei’s belt.

No matter.

He took up one of the crooked blades the goblins had used to harass him, it was a cruel savage weapon but it would do. He drove the blade into his stomach with a suppressed grunt of agony as he slid it horizontally up the length of his abdomen. He dropped the blade, shaking as he took off his headscarf and wrapped the wound up tightly.

He closed his eyes slowly, drawing on serenity.

“Pain is but another lesson, Maasuke, endure it.”
The sound of hissing air once again filled his ears as the bamboo stick collided with his thigh. Tokagzaz was looming over the young student stoically. He remembered this day, young and hopeful for the future – for the chance to serve his father and perhaps, even his Daiymo once his father retired.

“Walk, Maasuke.”

He pushed himself to his feet and began walking down the steps with his sensei hot on his heels with the dented bamboo stick.

He took another deep steadying breath and began to walk to the village, through the thicket, onto the dirt path. What was left of the clan had gathered to watch the final duel between the Shimaoda brothers, the duel that would determine who took their fathers place. He looked upon his brother for a moment, but his expression was lost within the shadowy recesses of his hood. He offered a smile, a warm one, perhaps the first affectionate gesture he had shown Sei in years.

Norio narrowed his eyes upon Maasuke, perhaps knowing what was to come. He could feel the blood flowing from the wound now as he took half a dozen uncertain steps toward the Daiymo, head held high. He offered a small bow causing rivulets of pain to shatter across the serene calm he had evoked.
Still, he kept his voice clear, free from the agony.

“I cannot fight my brother, there is no honour in killing him. Or him me.”

He could feel the eyes of those gathered piercing his being, the pain was beginning to worsen, his vision was beginning to grow murky, perhaps with tears or the loss of blood as he continued.

“My father did not raise me to kill kin; I would shame his memory were I to strike him down, Daiymo.”

Painfully, he reached down to untuck his tunic revealing the bloodied head scarf beneath. Blood dripped through his fingers, down his leggings, and he felt like wretching but still his resolve was true.

Finally the Daiymo spoke up,
“You retain your honour through defeat, Maasuke-san? Your love for your brother is not false.”

The words grew blurry, he began to sway on his feet as his hands reached out to either side of him for purchase. His mind was a swirl with what would be his final thoughts. Yet none of them made sense. Only the recurrence of his childhood with Sei pierced the confusion.

The Daiymo motioned to his left, to where he knew Sei stood.

“He comes prepared to face you, but now we see, you are the stronger brother, Maasuke-san. The death of a spirit tells no lies.”

He said it with a finality that seemed to indicate the scene was almost at its climax. Rage stilled the pain in his stomach long enough to offer a rebuttal; he would not die and leave his brother shamed. His breath, whilst raspy, was still clear.

“That is not true, Daiymo.” He said, though the effort caused his legs to give way under him. He slumped to his knees, resting his hands upon them as he continue.

“Something changed in me at Uhm. I cannot draw my blade on any, I am incapable of service.”

His hands slid to the grass, gripping the blades to feel their texture one last time. The kami of death was close now, peering over Norio's shoulder - ready to collect his soul.

“You are a terrible samurai, Maasuke. You cannot even carry half your weight in water. You are weak!”

He began running once more, down the steps with two vases of water on either shoulder; his shoulders were almost burnt out with the weight of the burden. The sensei kept up pace, hitting him harshly with the bamboo stick should he show signs of weakness.

He blinked back the tears; it was a flood threatening to drown him in his final moments, to shame him even in this last act of rectitude. He shut his eyes and felt a rumble of pain slide up from the wound to his arms. His hands moved from the grass to conceal his shame, covering his eyes in this final moment.

“I… would not have my blood on another’s hands, Norio-san. I have made my own destiny, and would not knock you askew on the path to enlightenment.” He said between panted breaths. There had been enough death done by my hand, I would not have it be done in my name.

He fell silent, the last exertion of effort spent on allaying his death for but a few painful moments more. He tried to move his head to regard his brother one last time, to see the young boy he had grown up with. His head wouldn't move, and the sound of Aimi's weeping sent him on his way, to the end of the path.

Norio began to fade as the blood loss began to draw him toward the final respite.

He was home again, walking through the deserted halls of the dojo, listening to the flow of the wind kami as they tickled the chimes with their whispers. He followed the wind, walking swiftly through the courtyard – memories brought forth the images of battling his brother at Sei’s coming of age ceremony. He took a moment to watch the spar, to smile proudly as Sei struck him down with a precision strike to the neck.

He walked through his training grounds leaving behind the battling brothers, to see his former Sensei looming over him with the bamboo stick once more.

“You are a terrible samurai!”

He rounded the corner of the Dojo’s outer wall, and saw Norio bringing back the katana in a wide arc.
A smile pulled at his lips, concealed by risen hands.

Yes I am.

The once-Banite watches silently, green eyes clouded and darkened at the sight of the man's death.

So young. He's so damn young...

She thinks what she dares not say aloud, and watches Norio, wondering exactly what weight the man is taking onto his shoulders, even as he eases Maasuke's.

The wind howled fiercely, the spirits themselves coming to witness what was to come. The air around chilled as the spirits took their place in the show that was to be the end. The graves before me stood alone and serene in their nature, the few signs of flowers marking the recognition of those that came to pay their respects in the empty ruins that had been reclaimed. Names and bodies of the unknown, of the innocent and the worthy all led before me. Those worthy of protection. Those worthy of honour.

Had the spirits come to guide the fallen, to mock what they had fallen to or simply know who to condemn when the time came for judgement? Time would tell, in the end. For now, they were simply here. Waiting and watching for what would be the Shimaoda brothers’ last act together.

The words of old from father came over the winds, the spirits whispering a final message to me perhaps “For a child is a clay statue to be moulded by a capable sculptor and bushido is the tool used to shape it into something worthy of honour”

The meaning was clear. Father had taught us both how to act through the code of Bushido. We do not strike down kin, we do not strike down the innocent, we do not strike down the unknowing. And yet, our lord was demanding it. Our lord demanded much that would darken our karma and path to enlightenment but yet, duty was not something that could be ignored.

I took a hold of the family blades, they had been passed down through the generations of the Shimaoda family, they had become a symbol of honour. The Shimaoda that carried these blades also carried the families honour, the wielder was duty bound to protect it - even if that meant death.

The blades were long and sharp; honed to a fine edge through care, discipline, and most importantly love. The weapons held three symbolic markings to remind the wielder of the responsibilities that came with drawing steel, "Honour, Mercy, and Compassion. The turquoise hilts stood out brightly against the murky colours of the dead’s home.

They suddenly became heavy in my hands, as though willing another wielder; I set them down with a shudder and looked them over, thoroughly, for the first time.

Two options rested before me. The path demanded, or the path known. Death waited at each. Honour restored, or honour forsaken. The wind stopped, the spirits had fallen silent, and I took it as a signal to begin my descent into hell. The quiet brought me back to my violent reality with a creeping sense of finality bearing down on my shoulders. Rising slowly I intoned one of the mantras we learnt to clear our minds, to bring back the stillness that was threatening to be engulfed by a multitude of other emotions.

May good befall all,
May there be peace for all
May all be fit for perfection,
May all experience that which is auspicious.
May all be happy, May all be healthy,
May we all experience what is good and let no one suffer.

What could it be that Maasuke was doing, was he struggling with the same crisis? Had he left, as he had planned? Was he reciting the mantras of old? Or was he ready, as always, to face me?

My mind was an untameable maelstrom of emotion, I couldn't still the waters, I couldn't draw on the serenity that once came so easy. Perhaps it was a sign of what was to come, or what had already passed. Only the spirits truly knew and they did not divulge the knowledge I sought.

Carefully strapping the family blades back to my side I began the long walk to my fate, each step slow and heavy, pain filling mind and body alike with a sickening twist. Each step taking me closer to my reckoning.

Somehow, I made it back to where we had stood a mere hour ago. The village had fallen dark, pain and anguish filled the air as the rain hammered down. The clan was gathered around, huddled to watch their barbaric sport. They thought this was honour, one here to redeem and the other to claim. Honour had long since died in this clan, whatever they held to now was simply the machinations of a mad man. The sprits were here and the spirits would judge.

Maasuke lumbered down the path, slow and with a hobble. The ceremonial headscarf given to him by our Sensei was missing, had he tossed it aside as an act of defiance? Had he stepped off the path to adhere to the bastardized tenets of bushido, to strike me down? I quickly shook the thought away, whatever my brother had done, his fate was his own. As was mine.

The blades at my side hung heavy, threatening to buckle my legs and bring me down, as if demanding their path be taken. Could that be what the spirits willed, here for our salvation? I willed my hands to move, to unclench and at least be /ready/ for the possibility but they refused, locked in fear as my mind began to race more and more. Honour in death, to remain by the ways we were taught or the abandon them all.

“He comes prepared to face you, but now we see, you are the stronger brother, Maasuke-san. The death of a spirit tells no lies.”

The words of the Daimyo rang clear in the air, echoing with finality. Why was he here, he had decided he was not prepared to die for this man. He had decided to live by something better. I begged him to leave in my head, shouted and pleaded. This should not be how our end comes; this was not how it should be. As the end crept ever closer, memories of the past came unbidden to mind, memories of a happier time.

We had been sent to gather water in pots down the cliff face, our sensei bellowing his orders with a sharp crack of bamboo to our heels to encourage us not to dawdle.
We spoke little along the way, years of competing against another had built up a rivalry between us that would not fade away anytime soon. The water was gathered in silent unison, the pots now heavy as we began the arduous climb back up.

It happened suddenly, my foot twisted and I came down with a crunch. Pots shattering and water spilling out down the path. Maasuke set his own pots down and moved to help, an act of kindness perhaps? As if he had almost been following us, Tokazgaz soon appeared, wanting an explanation for the occurrence. Ready to confess, Maasuke stepped forwards and spoke.

“It was I, Sensei. I dropped the pots”

The thought had never occurred to me, but had he been protecting me? Showing compassion? Were we ever truly meant to be rivals or was our bond something more? In my heart, I knew what I wished.

“That is not true, Daimyo.”

His collapse to the ground quickly brought me back, the pleading and begging ceasing. He would not run, he would not hide. He was here, with his head held high, defiant of the wrong that had been sown. I would not shame him now by looking away.

“My father did not raise me to kill kin. I would shame his memory were I to strike him down, Daimyo”

The words crept into my mind, silent and soothing in their nature, a comfort of shared knowledge … and acceptance of what was to come.

I would not slay my brother. I would not dishonour myself for the unworthy.

Death

For us both.

“I would not have my blood on another’s hands Norio-san. I have made my own destiny and would not knock you askew on your path to enlightenment”

The finality of these words brought me back to the present, my brother sat ready, head bowed and hands covering his face in wait, was the shame he felt for others too much to bear, or could he simply not stand to look upon those around anymore? Norio-san stood beside him all too eagerly. Katana poised. Arm ready. Mind set.

Silence

Nothing

And then… it was over. His body slumped down and blood marred the ground. Yet another stain on an already cursed land

“He dies a warrior of the mantis clan, with no error, no blame, no…”

I paid their words no more heed. The reply resounding in my head unsaid.

“No! He dies a warrior of the Shimaoda family, now and forever more!”

Forcing myself forwards, my legs encased in the heavy weight that was now mine alone to bear. With a tenderness we had never shared in life I gathered him up and took him away from the madness.

The climb was long, the elements threatened to tear me down and bring the trek to an end before it had begun. The snow was pilling up around me and the wind was howling in anger, giving voice to my own where words had failed. But finally, I was here; the hidden place of seclusion that Bishop had shown me.

Awoken and trained in a hidden place, we would pass on in such. It was only fitting that it be so. In this place, the crimes of the past would be forgotten and all that mattered would be the here and now.

The temple stood tall atop the peak, defiant of all that raged around it, defiant of the elements and time. This would be the final moment of the Shimaoda brothers and their final act of honour. This was the end.

Laying his body down in the snow, I simply took my time to regard him quietly. Even dead he was serene, at peace, the worries and torments now unable to plague him.

I built a pyre from the few trees that grew about the peak, time passed without recognition, my mind was filled with the howling spirits on the wind and my own grief. I forced my mind to empty, I meditated to prevent the wave of emotion from drowning me.

Laying his body atop, smoothing his clothes out as best I could I brushed the quickly settling snow away. His clothes were stained red from the blood from his selfless action, his one moment to keep the honour of himself and the family.

Dousing the body in bottles of pure alcohol I whispered prayers to the spirits, for forgiveness and to carry Maasuke gently to the beyond.

“Take this one in kindness, oh spirits, take him in joy. He defied the broken and the lost, even for those that wished us no good. He stood to defend the weak and the innocent. He was right”

Taking another bottle, I began emptying the contents with another quiet prayer offered on up.

“May you look upon him favourably, oh spirits, this brother of Shimaoda. With him does all honour lie and with him does it die.”

With the body well and truly doused, I took the family blades that still hung at my side and led them before me and the pyre. Katana and wakizashi with their ornate hilts the only thing now left of our family, all we would be remembered by when memories faded and anger died.

“They are not mine. They lie with those worthy, those of honour. They were always yours, Maasuke. I was not fit to bear them, no matter your own thoughts on what occurred. You did, as the rest of us should. They are yours.”

Placing the blades atop his broken body, I stood naked and empty. The lack of the blades chilled me far more than the biting blizzard that was beginning to brew could. I was now truly alone in this world. Nor more, could I be what I was.

“Drink, Sei-san. Drink your first sip on my death bed”

The words he spoke the day after Uhm rang clear, the day we both knew was to come had arrived and gone. The wave of emotion broke and I could no longer contain my pain, I stood before his broken body and I wept. They fell for brother and family, they fell for the spirits and they fell for me.

Taking out a bottle of wine, the first I had brewed in the land and marked for this occasion alone, I set it to one side ready. Next, I pulled out the flint and metal to spark and set the awaiting body into flames so it may be received.

Striking sharply once, then twice, the flames wasted no time in engulfing the body and pyre. Licking around ferociously, burning my hand and arm, still too slow to get out of the way in time.

The flames crackled and burnt, providing a modicum of respite from the savage cold. Picking up the wine, I tugged out the cork and let it simply fall to my feet, the faint scent of the wine wafting out only to be sharply tugged away by the unrelenting forces of nature.

“Farewell, my brother. May the spirits guard and guide you, where I could not”

My final words spoken, I drank. Drank from the wine and watched as the spirits came to claim his soul and finally guide him to a better life.

And I watched.

The brush swept across the page, the Kozakuran characters forming on the paper even as he thought of them. Daikiri Norio sat in Cliff Village, one a crate with many others under the side roof to one of the buildings there. The Rain pattered outside, and he could see his Doshin across the muddy street trudging through the rain with a wheelbarrow. His eyes swept across the street and lingered on the stone in the road, now painted with a name, the simple monument to a great warrior. That day still haunted his mind, a great burden to bear upon his heart.

He had been stood amongst his clan when his lord had raised the issue. He had known it was coming, ever since the fiasco in Uhm, he had known this day must come, but the cause of it came from an unexpected direction. Of all Maasuke's actions... it was the adoption of Bishop-san as a student and that she had defended her masters honour had been what had displeased his lord. He had called for the two brothers to fight to the death for their families honour.

He had felt then and there that this had been a mistake, that this was going to lead to another loss, another blow to the struggling clan. Argueing against it as much as he dared, he had been resigned to this fate, the death of one of the Warrior's finest warriors. He had spoken of his displeasure to his companion while the brothers left to prepare themselves for death. He had said a silent prayer for the brothers then.

Back in the present he sighed and painted a few more characters on the paper before him, starting to outline the laws of this new home, so that they can be written upon signs and posted around their new home. Other scattered paintings and sheets lay around out of the rain on boxes and planks of wood, paintings of shrines, of the village, drafts of suggestions to his lord. Maasuke's death had kindled a fire in within the Samurai, he was detirmined that the Mantis clan would make something of itself here, that it would honour Maasuke's sacrifice. This town would rise... or he would die carrying it upon his shoulders.

When the brothers Shimoada returned, the observant Norio could see something was wrong. His eyes were glued to Maasuke, he had a far away look in his eyes and was deathly pale. Norio had seen that look on a mans face before, many times in his time as a Magistrate in Kozakura had he seen that look in the eyes of a man at his feet. Maasuke was dying.

Maasuke had chosen to sacrifice his life so that his brother could live, had chosen to retain his honour instead of shame himself further. It was a noble act... but he was dying none the less. Sparing a glance for Sei, Norio knew he would not be the one to ease his brothers passing, nor should Norio let him. Such an act might destroy the Shimoada samurai. It feel to Norio, and he would not hesitate. He had stepped forward to his friends side, ready to do his duty, to do what he had always done... what he must.

Every day since, Norio had knelt in the road and said a prayer at the little shrine he had laid there. Moving a stone to the site where Maasuke had died. He had replaced it with a more pleasing stone, and painted the name of the fallen warrior upon it. His friends death weighed heavily upon him still, days after the fact. Sometimes rage rose up within him, sometimes he questioned the wisdom of his lord, but these thoughts he had to stifle these thoughts or else they would interfere with his Duty. If his sense of honour failed... when what was he?

He remembered the strike, he had felt the sword rise and then fall in a glittering arc that ended with a spray of blood. He felt it even now upon his face, all those days later. He had watched for what felt like an eternity as the mortal shell of his once friend and Comrade fell to the ground... he watched the blood pool and flow down this blade, dripping into the ground. Maasuke had died with honour... and this blood was proof. There must be blood to pay for dishonour.

Norio reflected back on that day... it was not just the Shimoada brother who had died. Something else had died.. something intangible. It felt that the the spirit of the clan had died that day, or at least had been wounded. Thier future.. as always was uncertain. One thing Norio knew, was Maasuke's sacrifice was not going to be in vain. Norio knew that Cliff Village would flourish, or he would die. These were certain

[IC: Uhm/Cliffside] East Meets West

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