daimyo rivalry
Posted: Sun Jan 16, 2005 1:29 pm
"Lord Asano, a messenger has just arrived-"
Asano dismissed the speaker with an angry grunt and a swat of his hand. He was staring at a man kneeling in the centre of the courtyard before him. He had better take this well, he thought. The shame will be bad for him and me if he does not do this right.
He raised his head and allowed himself a brief glance opposite him at his adversary, who himself was transfixed on the kneeling man.
Those three. But that it were them kneeling in front of me now.
The three men opposite him sat on dais', surrounded by heavily armoured samurai. In the centre sitting on the highest dais was old Omi, a short, stocky man with white moustaches and a wispy beard. He was the only one of the three not to be wearing full ceremonial armour. Instead he wore a finely embroidered kimono of the finest silk, the Omi clan insignia sewn into one breast.
Ryuhei Omi. My oldest, dearest enemy. You're both cunning and wise, but you have your weaknesses. Too disposed to kindness and selfless acts, a good trait for a monk, but not for a Daimyo. You wouldn't still be here if it were not for your advisers.
To the right of Lord Omi, sitting perfectly poised and solid as granite was Unamoto Daichi. He wore bright red armour, the weight of which he bore remarkably well for his age. He answered only to Omi, and was in charge of half of his army as well as being the head Omi house weapon master.
Unamoto.... Old Iron Hand Unamoto. More dangerous than Omi, and completely devoted to him. You're getting old now, Daichi, but I know what you're capable of and do not doubt you for a second. Everybody here remembers what you did at Hideaki Ridge. No, nobody will forget Hideaki ridge...
The third man, seated to the left of Omi and the youngest of the three was Hiritsubo Juro. Hiritsubo was the Daimyo of the province that lay between Omi's and Asano's lands. The province was a small one of little monetary value, but the strategic importance was insurmountable. Hiritsubo was Omi's firmest ally.
Yes, Juro, the province is yours now. But though you are loyal, and possess strength in your own way like Hiritsubo and Omi's, I know that if there is a weak point amongst the three of you then it lies with you. And I swear I will find that point and twist it and crush it...
A youngster was standing behind Omi Ryuhei. Their faces shared the same elegant bone structure and wise eyes, though that was where the similarities ended. The youth was already a head taller than Omi, and a lot more slender. He carried nothing of the imperious air or poise of the three in front about him, slouching where he stood and looking at the ground rather than at the man who was the focal point of the others' attention.
Omi Kitano. Surely a disappointment to your father. You are not growing in to a samurai like you should, and woe betide the Omi clan if you were to come in to power. But perhaps I judge you too harshly, isn't it the way of the young generation to grow different to the old? And I've heard you have shown some talent with a sword, as well as having at least a part of your father's cunning. No, it would be unwise to underestimate you, so much better to nip you in the bud before you have a chance to grow.
A horn sounded, and one of Asano's men went forward and took his place behind the kneeling man.
Now is the time. Do this well.
The kneeling man raised his head and stared at the sky, lifting the shorter of his two swords, the wakishazi, as he did so. He expertly unsheathed it and barked out a few words before baring his chest and holding the point to his stomach.
A leaf tossed around
by wind and wave, none can tell
where it will expire.
At the sound of the man's poem Asano nodded his head slightly. Opposite him Omi raised his arm and resting his elbow on his knee he began rubbing his chin with his knuckles. Unamoto gave him a sidelong glanced and noted this mannerism, he knew it in Omi as a sign of interest.
As he finished his Haiku the kneeling samurai pressed the short sword in to his belly, falling forward as he did so. He kept perfect posture, his head held high despite the complete agony twisting his features. The blade slowly made its way in a straight line along the bottom of his belly, the cut spurting out watery red liquid as it opened, and then twisted until it faced upwards. More and more of the bloody mixture stained the tatami mat as the second cut was made. Finally, the samurai made a third twist, and pulled his blade horizontally once more. His stomach opened up, and the samurai let out a loud gasp, the first audible sound he had made since he had taken his place in the centre of the square. On cue, the man's second brought his katana down and removed his head in one clean stroke, cutting the gasp short.
Unamoto looked on impassively. Omi Kitano blanched, and returned his gaze to the ground. Hiritsubo watched respectfully until the end, before whispering some instructions to one of his lieutenants. Omi Ryuhei bowed his head forward slightly, still seated on his dais, a sign of great respect. Lord Asano nodded his head again, and turning to his men gruffly issued several commands.
A fine seppuku, he thought to himself, satisfied. And a fine example to any other samurai who fail me.
This is unfinished. I hope you liked it, if you do I can keep writing and post more
Asano dismissed the speaker with an angry grunt and a swat of his hand. He was staring at a man kneeling in the centre of the courtyard before him. He had better take this well, he thought. The shame will be bad for him and me if he does not do this right.
He raised his head and allowed himself a brief glance opposite him at his adversary, who himself was transfixed on the kneeling man.
Those three. But that it were them kneeling in front of me now.
The three men opposite him sat on dais', surrounded by heavily armoured samurai. In the centre sitting on the highest dais was old Omi, a short, stocky man with white moustaches and a wispy beard. He was the only one of the three not to be wearing full ceremonial armour. Instead he wore a finely embroidered kimono of the finest silk, the Omi clan insignia sewn into one breast.
Ryuhei Omi. My oldest, dearest enemy. You're both cunning and wise, but you have your weaknesses. Too disposed to kindness and selfless acts, a good trait for a monk, but not for a Daimyo. You wouldn't still be here if it were not for your advisers.
To the right of Lord Omi, sitting perfectly poised and solid as granite was Unamoto Daichi. He wore bright red armour, the weight of which he bore remarkably well for his age. He answered only to Omi, and was in charge of half of his army as well as being the head Omi house weapon master.
Unamoto.... Old Iron Hand Unamoto. More dangerous than Omi, and completely devoted to him. You're getting old now, Daichi, but I know what you're capable of and do not doubt you for a second. Everybody here remembers what you did at Hideaki Ridge. No, nobody will forget Hideaki ridge...
The third man, seated to the left of Omi and the youngest of the three was Hiritsubo Juro. Hiritsubo was the Daimyo of the province that lay between Omi's and Asano's lands. The province was a small one of little monetary value, but the strategic importance was insurmountable. Hiritsubo was Omi's firmest ally.
Yes, Juro, the province is yours now. But though you are loyal, and possess strength in your own way like Hiritsubo and Omi's, I know that if there is a weak point amongst the three of you then it lies with you. And I swear I will find that point and twist it and crush it...
A youngster was standing behind Omi Ryuhei. Their faces shared the same elegant bone structure and wise eyes, though that was where the similarities ended. The youth was already a head taller than Omi, and a lot more slender. He carried nothing of the imperious air or poise of the three in front about him, slouching where he stood and looking at the ground rather than at the man who was the focal point of the others' attention.
Omi Kitano. Surely a disappointment to your father. You are not growing in to a samurai like you should, and woe betide the Omi clan if you were to come in to power. But perhaps I judge you too harshly, isn't it the way of the young generation to grow different to the old? And I've heard you have shown some talent with a sword, as well as having at least a part of your father's cunning. No, it would be unwise to underestimate you, so much better to nip you in the bud before you have a chance to grow.
A horn sounded, and one of Asano's men went forward and took his place behind the kneeling man.
Now is the time. Do this well.
The kneeling man raised his head and stared at the sky, lifting the shorter of his two swords, the wakishazi, as he did so. He expertly unsheathed it and barked out a few words before baring his chest and holding the point to his stomach.
A leaf tossed around
by wind and wave, none can tell
where it will expire.
At the sound of the man's poem Asano nodded his head slightly. Opposite him Omi raised his arm and resting his elbow on his knee he began rubbing his chin with his knuckles. Unamoto gave him a sidelong glanced and noted this mannerism, he knew it in Omi as a sign of interest.
As he finished his Haiku the kneeling samurai pressed the short sword in to his belly, falling forward as he did so. He kept perfect posture, his head held high despite the complete agony twisting his features. The blade slowly made its way in a straight line along the bottom of his belly, the cut spurting out watery red liquid as it opened, and then twisted until it faced upwards. More and more of the bloody mixture stained the tatami mat as the second cut was made. Finally, the samurai made a third twist, and pulled his blade horizontally once more. His stomach opened up, and the samurai let out a loud gasp, the first audible sound he had made since he had taken his place in the centre of the square. On cue, the man's second brought his katana down and removed his head in one clean stroke, cutting the gasp short.
Unamoto looked on impassively. Omi Kitano blanched, and returned his gaze to the ground. Hiritsubo watched respectfully until the end, before whispering some instructions to one of his lieutenants. Omi Ryuhei bowed his head forward slightly, still seated on his dais, a sign of great respect. Lord Asano nodded his head again, and turning to his men gruffly issued several commands.
A fine seppuku, he thought to himself, satisfied. And a fine example to any other samurai who fail me.
This is unfinished. I hope you liked it, if you do I can keep writing and post more