Post by tsurume on Mar 8, 2006 13:10:10 GMT -5
[OOC: I apologize for the length of time it took to finish this post -- I felt it was necessary for me to do some serious research before I felt comfortable with posting it.]
The moment the brush hit the floor mat; my handmaiden scurried forward and began to clean the spilled ink. I could see in her young face that she was surprised and curious at my action, until she looked in the direction I was staring and saw the Hanzagiri army moving forward. For one moment fear showed in her eyes, but rather than run, she finished cleaning the ink and then waited for my instructions. The Honor of my father was an example to our servants and their loyalty and obedience only added to my father’s name.
I moved away from the table, my unfinished drawing forgotten, and stepped outside of the shielding screens so that I could see the opened foot gate. The Hanzagiri clan warriors had been noticed by the household of my father, and a servant holding a spear, was guarding the foot gate while my father and brothers readied their armor.
I looked up again at the hills and saw there had been some movement within the army of the Hanzagiri. The mounted Samurai of the Hanzagiri that wished to make a name for themselves had ridden forward to assess the single defender’s worthiness of their challenge. As the Ronin and unmounted Samurai of the Hanzagiri waited-- the Ronin shifting and moving impatiently, the unmounted Samurai stone still in obedience to tradition – the mounted Samurai trotted closer, then stopped. Bristling with the traditional weapons of the Katana, Wakazashi, Kumi and some, the Naginata, they waited silently, refusing to engage a servant. Their gruesome looking black-lacquered facemasks glistened in the mid-morning sunlight, and their horses danced in place. But the Samurai sat and waited, their posture perfect and unmoving in the saddle.
Finally, my father and two brothers approached the foot gate, their red lacquered armor with black silk lacings worn proudly. My brothers wore traditional helms on their heads with leering face plates, but my father had chosen not to wear a helm, instead he wore a white silk embroidered kerchief that my mother had made for him. In his hands he held a Naginata, and when he reached the foot gate, the servant who had stood watch bowed low in respect and withdrew to a safe distance to watch. My brother’s drew their katanas and took up positions on either side of my father, and the three waited for the first challengers.
The first of the mounted Samurai dismounted and strode forward, Naginata at the ready, as he stated his lineage and victories. In response my father lowered the tip of his Naginata and gracefully sank into a defensive posture. My two brothers stepped back slightly, and as they did so, the first duel began.
The Hanzagiri Samurai stepped forward with a quick thrust of his Naginata and my father parried high, then stepped back to avoid the expected downward slash of his challenger, drawing him closer to the lintel. The challenger pulled out of the failed downward slash and then thrust low with his Naginata. Without a word, my father caught the poll of the Challenger’s Naginata with the crossbar of his own, and shoved it with a hard parry towards my brother. My brother quickly stepped forward and slammed the challenger’s Naginata against the lintel and held it there with his Katana while my father whipped his Naginata up and to the side and then slashed down at an angle, cutting deeply into his opponent and scoring the first victory. I rejoiced in my heart when my father proved victorious and noticed that some of the household servants had stopped what they had been doing to watch.
The second challenger didn’t bother with the proper declaration of lineage and victories, and I saw the slightest smirk of amusement cross my father’s face as the challenger instead charged in towards the lintel, katana held high. My father held his Naginata in a lowered position, tip almost touching the ground, his stance slightly to the side, as still as stone. When the challenger’s katana smacked into the top of the lintel, my father whipped his Naginata up into a point thrust almost faster than the blink of an eye and again he proved victorious.
The third challenger, seeing my father’s skill against a Naginata, and the obvious futility of using a katana in a lintel, chose rather to draw his Wakazashi and step forward. He said nothing but bowed low and then glided into a battle stance, holding his Wakazashi at the ready. In response, my father slid his right hand up to the mid point of the Naginata and with his left hand, he gestured to my brother’s to hold back. This challenger was an honorable man and my father recognized this. My two brothers stepped back, bowing respectfully, and obeyed my father’s wishes. Then my father gripped his Naginata right behind the guard and so prepared he waited. The challenger and my father stared at one another for a very long time, their eyes cold and unblinking. Suddenly the challenger broke the eye contact and slashed forward with his Wakazashi, my father meeting his blade with the blade of the Naginata and their weapons flashed and clashed with short, quick slashes, thrusts and parries. The challenger was an honorable and skilled samurai and this was reflected in the deadly movements he danced with my father.
I saw a couple of the household servants move closer, mesmerized by the display. I to was fascinated and awed by what I was seeing. Then my father seemed to give ground, by stepping back a pace away from the lintel, and the challenger moved forward for a downward slash into the apparent opening given by my father. But when the challenger stepped forward, my father pushed forward on the length of the Naginata and with its added reach he thrust into the heart of his opponent and once more he proved victorious. This time, however, he stopped, and bowed with respect to the fallen.
The challenges complete, the lords of the Hanzagiri gave the command for the Ronin to engage. The Ronin immediately charged forward, pressing in to make a name for themselves by being the first to kill my father and brothers. The graceful dance of the earlier challenges was met by fierce practical resistance and conservative movements as each of my brothers began to play a significant part of the battle. There were only three defenders, and over a hundred warriors to battle, and the day was yet young.
I watched as the seemingly endless press of enemies attacked at the lintel of the foot gate. If their skill were not sufficient to bring down my father then perhaps sheer numbers and exhaustion would eventually do the job for them. But my father was wise and knowledgeable of battle and occasionally he or one of my brothers would step back to rest and in their place stepped the servant that had initially guarded the door. This subtle movement was striking like the dance of cranes. The step, bob, step, retreat, step that I have watched the cranes dance with one another in the springtime.
So intent was I on watching the battle and praying to our ancestors for success and honor, that I did not notice the passage of time. One after another of the Ronin fell at the lintel until their bodies had to be moved aside by the men behind them. It was late afternoon and still the order for the unmounted samurai to attack had not yet come. I watched the sweat pouring down from my father and brothers and could see their movements slowing. I looked in the direction of the Hanzagiri army and realized the battle would not stop with the sunset. And I began to be afraid, because I knew that with the setting of the sun, terror would come to my father’s house.
As the battle raged on, and my father and brothers held the foot gate, I watched the sunset, reveling in its beauty and glorious significance. I enjoyed that moment of life to its fullest and gave thanks to my ancestors for the honor and courage of my father and brothers.
And when the darkness fell, terror came, as the Hanzagiri Ninja came over the wall.
The moment the brush hit the floor mat; my handmaiden scurried forward and began to clean the spilled ink. I could see in her young face that she was surprised and curious at my action, until she looked in the direction I was staring and saw the Hanzagiri army moving forward. For one moment fear showed in her eyes, but rather than run, she finished cleaning the ink and then waited for my instructions. The Honor of my father was an example to our servants and their loyalty and obedience only added to my father’s name.
I moved away from the table, my unfinished drawing forgotten, and stepped outside of the shielding screens so that I could see the opened foot gate. The Hanzagiri clan warriors had been noticed by the household of my father, and a servant holding a spear, was guarding the foot gate while my father and brothers readied their armor.
I looked up again at the hills and saw there had been some movement within the army of the Hanzagiri. The mounted Samurai of the Hanzagiri that wished to make a name for themselves had ridden forward to assess the single defender’s worthiness of their challenge. As the Ronin and unmounted Samurai of the Hanzagiri waited-- the Ronin shifting and moving impatiently, the unmounted Samurai stone still in obedience to tradition – the mounted Samurai trotted closer, then stopped. Bristling with the traditional weapons of the Katana, Wakazashi, Kumi and some, the Naginata, they waited silently, refusing to engage a servant. Their gruesome looking black-lacquered facemasks glistened in the mid-morning sunlight, and their horses danced in place. But the Samurai sat and waited, their posture perfect and unmoving in the saddle.
Finally, my father and two brothers approached the foot gate, their red lacquered armor with black silk lacings worn proudly. My brothers wore traditional helms on their heads with leering face plates, but my father had chosen not to wear a helm, instead he wore a white silk embroidered kerchief that my mother had made for him. In his hands he held a Naginata, and when he reached the foot gate, the servant who had stood watch bowed low in respect and withdrew to a safe distance to watch. My brother’s drew their katanas and took up positions on either side of my father, and the three waited for the first challengers.
The first of the mounted Samurai dismounted and strode forward, Naginata at the ready, as he stated his lineage and victories. In response my father lowered the tip of his Naginata and gracefully sank into a defensive posture. My two brothers stepped back slightly, and as they did so, the first duel began.
The Hanzagiri Samurai stepped forward with a quick thrust of his Naginata and my father parried high, then stepped back to avoid the expected downward slash of his challenger, drawing him closer to the lintel. The challenger pulled out of the failed downward slash and then thrust low with his Naginata. Without a word, my father caught the poll of the Challenger’s Naginata with the crossbar of his own, and shoved it with a hard parry towards my brother. My brother quickly stepped forward and slammed the challenger’s Naginata against the lintel and held it there with his Katana while my father whipped his Naginata up and to the side and then slashed down at an angle, cutting deeply into his opponent and scoring the first victory. I rejoiced in my heart when my father proved victorious and noticed that some of the household servants had stopped what they had been doing to watch.
The second challenger didn’t bother with the proper declaration of lineage and victories, and I saw the slightest smirk of amusement cross my father’s face as the challenger instead charged in towards the lintel, katana held high. My father held his Naginata in a lowered position, tip almost touching the ground, his stance slightly to the side, as still as stone. When the challenger’s katana smacked into the top of the lintel, my father whipped his Naginata up into a point thrust almost faster than the blink of an eye and again he proved victorious.
The third challenger, seeing my father’s skill against a Naginata, and the obvious futility of using a katana in a lintel, chose rather to draw his Wakazashi and step forward. He said nothing but bowed low and then glided into a battle stance, holding his Wakazashi at the ready. In response, my father slid his right hand up to the mid point of the Naginata and with his left hand, he gestured to my brother’s to hold back. This challenger was an honorable man and my father recognized this. My two brothers stepped back, bowing respectfully, and obeyed my father’s wishes. Then my father gripped his Naginata right behind the guard and so prepared he waited. The challenger and my father stared at one another for a very long time, their eyes cold and unblinking. Suddenly the challenger broke the eye contact and slashed forward with his Wakazashi, my father meeting his blade with the blade of the Naginata and their weapons flashed and clashed with short, quick slashes, thrusts and parries. The challenger was an honorable and skilled samurai and this was reflected in the deadly movements he danced with my father.
I saw a couple of the household servants move closer, mesmerized by the display. I to was fascinated and awed by what I was seeing. Then my father seemed to give ground, by stepping back a pace away from the lintel, and the challenger moved forward for a downward slash into the apparent opening given by my father. But when the challenger stepped forward, my father pushed forward on the length of the Naginata and with its added reach he thrust into the heart of his opponent and once more he proved victorious. This time, however, he stopped, and bowed with respect to the fallen.
The challenges complete, the lords of the Hanzagiri gave the command for the Ronin to engage. The Ronin immediately charged forward, pressing in to make a name for themselves by being the first to kill my father and brothers. The graceful dance of the earlier challenges was met by fierce practical resistance and conservative movements as each of my brothers began to play a significant part of the battle. There were only three defenders, and over a hundred warriors to battle, and the day was yet young.
I watched as the seemingly endless press of enemies attacked at the lintel of the foot gate. If their skill were not sufficient to bring down my father then perhaps sheer numbers and exhaustion would eventually do the job for them. But my father was wise and knowledgeable of battle and occasionally he or one of my brothers would step back to rest and in their place stepped the servant that had initially guarded the door. This subtle movement was striking like the dance of cranes. The step, bob, step, retreat, step that I have watched the cranes dance with one another in the springtime.
So intent was I on watching the battle and praying to our ancestors for success and honor, that I did not notice the passage of time. One after another of the Ronin fell at the lintel until their bodies had to be moved aside by the men behind them. It was late afternoon and still the order for the unmounted samurai to attack had not yet come. I watched the sweat pouring down from my father and brothers and could see their movements slowing. I looked in the direction of the Hanzagiri army and realized the battle would not stop with the sunset. And I began to be afraid, because I knew that with the setting of the sun, terror would come to my father’s house.
As the battle raged on, and my father and brothers held the foot gate, I watched the sunset, reveling in its beauty and glorious significance. I enjoyed that moment of life to its fullest and gave thanks to my ancestors for the honor and courage of my father and brothers.
And when the darkness fell, terror came, as the Hanzagiri Ninja came over the wall.