Post by oni on May 12, 2006 18:14:33 GMT -5
In the absence of Soke Seiji and his ninjas the Hanzagiri forces of Daimyo Lahan descended upon Makoto-jima like a plague, leaving nothing but death and devastation in their wake. I do not know if my brother suffered, if he fought honorably, or died pleading for his life... Perhaps some things are best left to the obscurities of history, and better not to dwell on.
Zento fell, as did our beloved Emperor and his middle son Hohiro. Some of the surviving samurai had bee dispatched to warn the villages of Isamu-jima of impending Hanzagiri invasion, and with the battle-scarred young man who's task had been to see to Ogawa, so came word of my brothers demise. The world went hazy and out of focus as I dropped to my knees in the village square, his words playing through my head over and over again. I felt sick, white-hot rage and tears obscuring my vision. My mother fell into my fathers arms, burying her head against his chest and wailing inconsolably as he in turn clenched his jaw, staring off into nothingness.
Times of true darkness have a way of revealing ones actual nature, as I soon discovered. The samurai instructed us all to build fortifications as quickly as we could, to pool our resources together and defend Ogawa. The exact opposite occurred, neighbor fought neighbor over shared stores of food and lumber, families, panicked and terror-stricken, turned on eachother like starving rats. Every household was a hostile and uninviting island. My father and mother wandered through the chaos as if in a daze, shock and grief having totally consumed them. I clenched my small hands into tightly balled fists, my knuckles white, and rose to my feet with purpose, a child possessed. I moved calmly down the well trodden streets of my village, the world around me holding no relevance any longer, my mind and actions entirely focused on returning to my home, and to retrieving what lay buried inside my fathers lacquered footlocker.
I will make them pay. Every last one.
I pushed up the ornate lid of the locker, my questing hands grasping the handles of what they had sought.
I will make them pay...
Out of the bolts of cloth and modest family keepsakes I unearthed my fathers tekagi. Since I was five Inji and I, and then later my father, had often sparred playfully in the lazy days that followed the rice harvests. I held no talent for the tekagi, but could competently use them.
Every
I closed the lid, moving fluidly over to the low table to snatch up a piece of parchment that had been tucked into one of fathers books for safekeeping.
Last
It was the most recent letter Inji had sent, he'd met a wonderful girl in Zento, a tailors daughter, and talk of marriage had been well underway.
One.
A loud, guttural scream echoed through the night air, breaking my focus, and I noticed an odd dancing pattern of light on the wall across from the open doorway. Daimyo Daizen's ninjas had arrived, and the house across the street from ours had been set ablaze, its occupants still inside, screaming in pain and terror as the smoke and flames enveloped them.
I instinctively backed away into the recesses of my home, squeezing between a bookcase and chest of drawers. Moments later the haunting firelight coming through the doorway was obscured by the silhouette of a hooded man, his figure casting a sinister shadow across the worn wood floor. He moved without noise, purposeful and intent on his task, it took all my concentration to track his progress through the room. I slowed my breathing, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart as he traveled with a vipers grace towards where I was hiding. My hatred made me brave, and as his first leather-clad leg came into striking distance I slashed at it with my tekagi. I wish I could say I wounded him, drew deserving Hanzagiri blood, but I would be lieing. He deflected my attack in one swift motion with his kryss, simultaneously disarming me. His arm shot out like a spiders strike and he grabbed me by my throat, jerking me up towards his masked face as I gasped for air. "I won't even bother to dull my blade on something so worthless." He hissed, the world slowly fading to absolute darkness as I struggled in vain to breathe.
When I awoke I was in my mothers arms, so warm and safe. I felt as though the world were rocking me gently back to sleep, and as I came fully to my senses I realized why; we were out at sea, nothing but vast expanses of water on all sides, and the even greater expanse of star scape above. I closed my eyes, cuddling in against my mother as she tenderly stroked my hair, lulled back to sleep by the unending murmur of the waves. We traveled for two days and three nights in our stolen Hanzagiri boat, sustaining ourselves on sea rations we'd found in the hold. My father, wounded, had found me unconscious in a heap before his destroyed bookcase. From the bruises that covered my small form I had assumed the ninja tossed my limp body against the bookcase, believing me dead.
Ogawa burned to the ground, reduced to nothing but ash, blackened wood, and charred bodies. I can only pray that others made it out as well. Our boat touched land on the third night; strange and swampish, it did not matter... We were safe.
Zento fell, as did our beloved Emperor and his middle son Hohiro. Some of the surviving samurai had bee dispatched to warn the villages of Isamu-jima of impending Hanzagiri invasion, and with the battle-scarred young man who's task had been to see to Ogawa, so came word of my brothers demise. The world went hazy and out of focus as I dropped to my knees in the village square, his words playing through my head over and over again. I felt sick, white-hot rage and tears obscuring my vision. My mother fell into my fathers arms, burying her head against his chest and wailing inconsolably as he in turn clenched his jaw, staring off into nothingness.
Times of true darkness have a way of revealing ones actual nature, as I soon discovered. The samurai instructed us all to build fortifications as quickly as we could, to pool our resources together and defend Ogawa. The exact opposite occurred, neighbor fought neighbor over shared stores of food and lumber, families, panicked and terror-stricken, turned on eachother like starving rats. Every household was a hostile and uninviting island. My father and mother wandered through the chaos as if in a daze, shock and grief having totally consumed them. I clenched my small hands into tightly balled fists, my knuckles white, and rose to my feet with purpose, a child possessed. I moved calmly down the well trodden streets of my village, the world around me holding no relevance any longer, my mind and actions entirely focused on returning to my home, and to retrieving what lay buried inside my fathers lacquered footlocker.
I will make them pay. Every last one.
I pushed up the ornate lid of the locker, my questing hands grasping the handles of what they had sought.
I will make them pay...
Out of the bolts of cloth and modest family keepsakes I unearthed my fathers tekagi. Since I was five Inji and I, and then later my father, had often sparred playfully in the lazy days that followed the rice harvests. I held no talent for the tekagi, but could competently use them.
Every
I closed the lid, moving fluidly over to the low table to snatch up a piece of parchment that had been tucked into one of fathers books for safekeeping.
Last
It was the most recent letter Inji had sent, he'd met a wonderful girl in Zento, a tailors daughter, and talk of marriage had been well underway.
One.
A loud, guttural scream echoed through the night air, breaking my focus, and I noticed an odd dancing pattern of light on the wall across from the open doorway. Daimyo Daizen's ninjas had arrived, and the house across the street from ours had been set ablaze, its occupants still inside, screaming in pain and terror as the smoke and flames enveloped them.
I instinctively backed away into the recesses of my home, squeezing between a bookcase and chest of drawers. Moments later the haunting firelight coming through the doorway was obscured by the silhouette of a hooded man, his figure casting a sinister shadow across the worn wood floor. He moved without noise, purposeful and intent on his task, it took all my concentration to track his progress through the room. I slowed my breathing, trying to calm the racing beat of my heart as he traveled with a vipers grace towards where I was hiding. My hatred made me brave, and as his first leather-clad leg came into striking distance I slashed at it with my tekagi. I wish I could say I wounded him, drew deserving Hanzagiri blood, but I would be lieing. He deflected my attack in one swift motion with his kryss, simultaneously disarming me. His arm shot out like a spiders strike and he grabbed me by my throat, jerking me up towards his masked face as I gasped for air. "I won't even bother to dull my blade on something so worthless." He hissed, the world slowly fading to absolute darkness as I struggled in vain to breathe.
When I awoke I was in my mothers arms, so warm and safe. I felt as though the world were rocking me gently back to sleep, and as I came fully to my senses I realized why; we were out at sea, nothing but vast expanses of water on all sides, and the even greater expanse of star scape above. I closed my eyes, cuddling in against my mother as she tenderly stroked my hair, lulled back to sleep by the unending murmur of the waves. We traveled for two days and three nights in our stolen Hanzagiri boat, sustaining ourselves on sea rations we'd found in the hold. My father, wounded, had found me unconscious in a heap before his destroyed bookcase. From the bruises that covered my small form I had assumed the ninja tossed my limp body against the bookcase, believing me dead.
Ogawa burned to the ground, reduced to nothing but ash, blackened wood, and charred bodies. I can only pray that others made it out as well. Our boat touched land on the third night; strange and swampish, it did not matter... We were safe.