*a prologue to the life of Konishi Kuroyoru*
The man sits on his stool, his formal kimono draped about him as he steadies himself with legs firmly spread, his hands resting powerfully on his knees. Before him, on the floor, sits a young boy, likely not past his eighth year of life. The boy’s eyes are wide as he sits, kneeling, his hands folded neatly on his lap. The man smiles at the young boy’s wonderment and stands smoothly, walking a few short steps to a mantle on which sits a display of swords. He carefully lifts each from its resting place and holds one in each hand as he returns to his stool, sitting slowly, but surely. He smiles at the boy once before speaking.
“Shin,” he looks seriously at the young child a moment, “Do you know what these are?”
The boy lights up, “Of course Papa, those are Grandfather’s swords.”
“Yes, my son,” the man smiles proudly, “And one day they will be yours. But they are more than simply swords, Shin. They are a way of life.”
The man sets the smaller blade on his lap and draws the larger one from its sheathe slowly, to let the light shimmer against its radiant surface.
“This is Life,” he speaks slowly and purposefully, after admiring the craftsmanship, “It preserves you and defends you. It cuts down your enemies and protects your family. It is your rice, your water, and all that sustains you. It gives you purpose and the will to go against those who should oppress. It is your birthright, and to lose it is to lose yourself.”
He ritually sheathes the blade as the young Shin looks on with wonder, speechless at the power of his father’s words. The man then rests the katana on his lap and picks up the wakizashi, repeating the mystic ritual of drawing it from its resting place. His face turns solemn as he holds it out for young Shin to see.
“This, my son, is Death.”
He lets the words sink in a moment before continuing, “This is your honor and your pride. This blade never leaves the side of its warrior and is connected with him in all ways. Even if his katana should break, his wakizashi is there as long as he has faith in himself. It is with this blade that honor is dealt and one commits to seppuku. To lose this blade is to lose more than yourself; it is to lose your honor and the honor of your family.”
The man slowly sheathes the wakizashi and stands without a word, moving to the mantle and placing the blades on their stand. Shin sits speechless, his eyes now a mixture of fear, confusion, and understanding. The man turns to face him, his face solemn.
“Do you understand what I have told you, Shin?”
Shin nods, unable to find his voice for a moment, but he manages to squeak out a “Y-yes, Papa.”
The man’s face turns into a soft smile as he walks to his son and pats him on the head.
“Good, now let us see if your mother has finished dinner.”
Shin’s face brightens and he jumps up from his seat on the floor and rushes past his father through the doorway into the dining room.
* * *
His stomach rumbles. It twists with the pains of hunger as he makes his way through the dirty streets like a rat in search of his next crumb of bread. He dodges from darkened alley to darkened alley, avoiding anything larger than himself. It seems like an eternity before his eyes see the light of the tavern windows. He slowly and carefully makes his way through the shadows until he comes upon the rear door. There he stays, crouched like a hunting tiger, waiting for his next meal to appear.
His patience is rewarded as the back door opens and a figure appears. The cook takes the pot he holds in both hands and tosses its contents into the street behind the tavern. He looks down the alley both ways before retiring to the kitchen and closing the door. As soon as there is certainty that the cook will not return, the young boy stalks out of his hiding place to see what bounty has befallen him tonight.
Scampering over to the waste as quickly as he can he roots through the pile of rotted and discarded food for anything edible. His ears twitch with the sound of something approaching. He listens a moment, closing his eyes, as he tries to determine if it may try to take what he has earned this night. The scritch-scratch of claws on cobblestone is distinct and so the boy gathers what he can and scurries back to his hiding place to feast upon his bounty.
No sooner is he safe in shadow than the large dog makes its way around the corner, its nose actively in search of the sweet smell of meat. Its attention turns sharply to the garbage and a low growl emits from his snarling maw. The rats scatter and the beast, this lord of the alleys, feasts well. The boy looks on with envy as he nibbles on his apple cores and chicken bones and he wonders how it came to this.
The boy has spent an eternity in the alleys, but in reality it has been just three years. After those three years, he begins to wonder if he truly knows who he is. He spits out an apple seed in anger. Of course he knows. He is “street rat” and “urchin” now. He is just another vermin of the Copper Alleys to be discarded. The Thayans made certain of that. The red wizards and their fire beasts stole his name, his family, his home, and his life.
The smoldering ruin of his people’s district is still visible from the higher rooftops and he often sits there, looking and thinking of what was and what is. From his vantage point he can see all of Selgaunt in all of its evil and horror. They do not care for the Kozas, and so why should he care for them. He will live his life as Street Rat and he will survive; and one day he will make them pay and they will fear him.
Into the Arms of the Enclave
-
RangerDeWood
- Ogre
- Posts: 633
- Joined: Sun Jan 11, 2004 6:03 am
- Location: Pittsburgh, PA
- Contact:
Into the Arms of the Enclave
"...a smile that Judas in Hell might be proud of."
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
-
RangerDeWood
- Ogre
- Posts: 633
- Joined: Sun Jan 11, 2004 6:03 am
- Location: Pittsburgh, PA
- Contact:
“Shin!”
That voice, the melody that calls for him. It is his mother.
“Shin! Wake up, it is time to go to market!”
He opens his eyes, the light from the new day blinding him and sending him huddling under his blanket. He lies there, hiding from the brightness, his body not wishing to move. Then, without warning, the blanket is thrown off and he quickly shields his eyes. As his eyes begin to adjust he looks up at the face of his mother as she stands over him, arms folded and an annoyed scowl on her face.
“Naikyo Shin,” she scolds, “come now, stop stalling and get yourself dressed.”
She quickly folds the blanket and has his clothes laid out before Shin can even pull himself to a sitting position. He rubs his eyes and yawns widely, stretching the sleep away as his mother buzzes about their home. Shin tiredly dresses himself in his more formal clothes that his mother has chosen for him and groggily walks out into the living room where he finds his mother waiting with basket in hand. She hurriedly waves him to her.
“Come, come,” she forces him into a jacket and then turns him to face her, “Look at your hair, you would think you slept on the floor.”
She tussles with his short hair a moment, hoping it will fall in place, then gives up and quickly ushers him through the front door and into the streets of the Kozakuran District of Selgaunt.
At first glance, one would never have guessed that this small bit of paradise was nestled deep within a large city far from the place it is meant to emulate, but as the pair walked along the dirt roads past streams and temples the cityscape of Selgaunt soon came to view. Among the more prominent features was a gate which separated the Koza district from that of the main city. As they approached the gate they were stopped by one of the guards posted there.
“State your business for leaving the district,” he said gruffly in the common tongue.
Shin’s mother stood defiantly a moment before answering, “We woud rike to keep pashing to the market.”
Shin frowned, but hid behind his mother so the guard would not see. He hated the way his mother sounded when she spoke the common tongue. The guard grinned a moment.
“Alright, just making sure you slant-eyes don’t cause no trouble,” he said as he waved them through the now open gate.
They both frowned at this as they made their way to the market district. The streets of Selgaunt were distinctly more crowded and narrow than that of the Koza district and Shin held tightly to his mother’s hand so that he would not get lost in the crowd. Everywhere they went they gathered disgusted stares from the townspeople, and upon reaching the crowded market itself, Shin’s mother was forced to use more of the mangled common tongue just to negotiate with the gaijin vendors. The boy ignored these conversations and turned his attention instead to the crowds around him. Stares and whispers abounded, and parents would keep their children from him and his mother as though they were uncaged beasts. While Shin enjoyed trips out of the district to see the rest of the city, it was only with his own people that he felt a sense of safety.
“Come Shin,” his mother addressed him in their own tongue as she placed her last item into her basket, “It is time to go home.”
* * *
The boy looked out from his shadowed alleyway across the busy market. The gate was no longer there, but the one now called Nezumi knew the way. As he poked his head out of the shadows, he looked around for any signs of the black guards that frequently patrolled this district. Seeing none, he darted out of his hole, running across the street as quickly as he could, dodging between carts and people, and then just as quickly diving into another alley.
He looked back at his quick trip and laughed at the guards and their barricade not 10 yards from where he just escaped. Nezumi made his way down the alley, checking his progress through the cracks between buildings, avoiding the market at all costs as he wove his way through the shadows toward the remains of his old home.
Nezumi had made this trip numerous times over the last year, and was confident that he could avoid the black knights. The nights in the Coppers were becoming more dangerous and slowly the kozas were starting to be pushed outside of the walls. He had to see what was left of his home once more before he shared the same fate.
As he made his way into what remained of the Koza District he sat a moment in silent contemplation. The land had been cleared a short time ago, and now plants were beginning to grow once more. He found it hard to remember just how the district used to look, but he tried. Nezumi stood there a long while, staring at what once was his, oblivious to the danger that was slowly surrounding him.
“Gotcha!”
That is all he heard, but it was all he needed as he deftly dodged out of the way of the black knight, watching in amusement as the heavily-armored guard fell face first into the street. He chuckled as the guard growled, pushing himself up. Nezumi knew it was time to leave, so he turned as quickly as he could and set off toward the nearest alley.
SMACK!
In his over-confidence, he forgot that the black knights never travel alone. As the gauntleted hand grabbed the back of his tattered shirt he tried his best to run, only to find that his feet had left the ground. He struggled with the man, but his efforts only gained him a cold chuckle.
The dark guard studied the koza boy in the moonlight, “A slant-eye, eh?”
He lifted the waif to eye level. Nezumi could see the knight’s eyes shimmer with cold satisfaction before they turned to spite and hatred and he was thrown to the ground.
“Send him back to the Coppers where he belongs,” the knight said, his voice echoing in his helmet.
The other guard saluted quickly and pulled Nezumi to his feet by his arm. The boy spit and screamed back at the sergeant.
“THIS is where I belong, you bastard! Where do your children sleep in the streets!? We will have our time, and your mighty god will not be able to save you!”
The koza cursed as he struggled against the guard that drug him back to the dark streets of despair, but his foreign tongue fell on deaf ears.
Perhaps this was for the best. The Selgaunters’ ignorance has given the kozakurans time. Already there was open talk of rebellion, of escape. They will rebuild and the Sembians will not know what hit them.
That voice, the melody that calls for him. It is his mother.
“Shin! Wake up, it is time to go to market!”
He opens his eyes, the light from the new day blinding him and sending him huddling under his blanket. He lies there, hiding from the brightness, his body not wishing to move. Then, without warning, the blanket is thrown off and he quickly shields his eyes. As his eyes begin to adjust he looks up at the face of his mother as she stands over him, arms folded and an annoyed scowl on her face.
“Naikyo Shin,” she scolds, “come now, stop stalling and get yourself dressed.”
She quickly folds the blanket and has his clothes laid out before Shin can even pull himself to a sitting position. He rubs his eyes and yawns widely, stretching the sleep away as his mother buzzes about their home. Shin tiredly dresses himself in his more formal clothes that his mother has chosen for him and groggily walks out into the living room where he finds his mother waiting with basket in hand. She hurriedly waves him to her.
“Come, come,” she forces him into a jacket and then turns him to face her, “Look at your hair, you would think you slept on the floor.”
She tussles with his short hair a moment, hoping it will fall in place, then gives up and quickly ushers him through the front door and into the streets of the Kozakuran District of Selgaunt.
At first glance, one would never have guessed that this small bit of paradise was nestled deep within a large city far from the place it is meant to emulate, but as the pair walked along the dirt roads past streams and temples the cityscape of Selgaunt soon came to view. Among the more prominent features was a gate which separated the Koza district from that of the main city. As they approached the gate they were stopped by one of the guards posted there.
“State your business for leaving the district,” he said gruffly in the common tongue.
Shin’s mother stood defiantly a moment before answering, “We woud rike to keep pashing to the market.”
Shin frowned, but hid behind his mother so the guard would not see. He hated the way his mother sounded when she spoke the common tongue. The guard grinned a moment.
“Alright, just making sure you slant-eyes don’t cause no trouble,” he said as he waved them through the now open gate.
They both frowned at this as they made their way to the market district. The streets of Selgaunt were distinctly more crowded and narrow than that of the Koza district and Shin held tightly to his mother’s hand so that he would not get lost in the crowd. Everywhere they went they gathered disgusted stares from the townspeople, and upon reaching the crowded market itself, Shin’s mother was forced to use more of the mangled common tongue just to negotiate with the gaijin vendors. The boy ignored these conversations and turned his attention instead to the crowds around him. Stares and whispers abounded, and parents would keep their children from him and his mother as though they were uncaged beasts. While Shin enjoyed trips out of the district to see the rest of the city, it was only with his own people that he felt a sense of safety.
“Come Shin,” his mother addressed him in their own tongue as she placed her last item into her basket, “It is time to go home.”
* * *
The boy looked out from his shadowed alleyway across the busy market. The gate was no longer there, but the one now called Nezumi knew the way. As he poked his head out of the shadows, he looked around for any signs of the black guards that frequently patrolled this district. Seeing none, he darted out of his hole, running across the street as quickly as he could, dodging between carts and people, and then just as quickly diving into another alley.
He looked back at his quick trip and laughed at the guards and their barricade not 10 yards from where he just escaped. Nezumi made his way down the alley, checking his progress through the cracks between buildings, avoiding the market at all costs as he wove his way through the shadows toward the remains of his old home.
Nezumi had made this trip numerous times over the last year, and was confident that he could avoid the black knights. The nights in the Coppers were becoming more dangerous and slowly the kozas were starting to be pushed outside of the walls. He had to see what was left of his home once more before he shared the same fate.
As he made his way into what remained of the Koza District he sat a moment in silent contemplation. The land had been cleared a short time ago, and now plants were beginning to grow once more. He found it hard to remember just how the district used to look, but he tried. Nezumi stood there a long while, staring at what once was his, oblivious to the danger that was slowly surrounding him.
“Gotcha!”
That is all he heard, but it was all he needed as he deftly dodged out of the way of the black knight, watching in amusement as the heavily-armored guard fell face first into the street. He chuckled as the guard growled, pushing himself up. Nezumi knew it was time to leave, so he turned as quickly as he could and set off toward the nearest alley.
SMACK!
In his over-confidence, he forgot that the black knights never travel alone. As the gauntleted hand grabbed the back of his tattered shirt he tried his best to run, only to find that his feet had left the ground. He struggled with the man, but his efforts only gained him a cold chuckle.
The dark guard studied the koza boy in the moonlight, “A slant-eye, eh?”
He lifted the waif to eye level. Nezumi could see the knight’s eyes shimmer with cold satisfaction before they turned to spite and hatred and he was thrown to the ground.
“Send him back to the Coppers where he belongs,” the knight said, his voice echoing in his helmet.
The other guard saluted quickly and pulled Nezumi to his feet by his arm. The boy spit and screamed back at the sergeant.
“THIS is where I belong, you bastard! Where do your children sleep in the streets!? We will have our time, and your mighty god will not be able to save you!”
The koza cursed as he struggled against the guard that drug him back to the dark streets of despair, but his foreign tongue fell on deaf ears.
Perhaps this was for the best. The Selgaunters’ ignorance has given the kozakurans time. Already there was open talk of rebellion, of escape. They will rebuild and the Sembians will not know what hit them.
"...a smile that Judas in Hell might be proud of."
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
-
RangerDeWood
- Ogre
- Posts: 633
- Joined: Sun Jan 11, 2004 6:03 am
- Location: Pittsburgh, PA
- Contact:
The sun shines on the Sembian city of Selgaunt as its citizens comfortably go about their daily lives in utter ignorance. Deckhands swab the mighty ships in the harbor while carpenters mend the scars left from their most recent voyage. The noble families pitter about, gossiping about the latest scandal or fashion faux pox made by their fellow well-to-dos. Common citizens run around as ants in a farm, worried about working for their next meal; oblivious to the danger that will soon rear its ugly head and bare its maw to their great city.
Far off the coast of Sembia, beyond the horizon, nestled safely at the edge of the Pirate Isles, a force is amassing. Those who would look upon could tell instantly what it was. The soldiers don their dark armor and board the ships, ushered and directed by their red-cloaked leaders. Soon the ships are full and the anchors are raised. A murmur can be heard from some of the vessels as a supernatural wind is raised to help push the mighty war fleet across the Sea into the waters of Sembia. The invasion has begun, and soon all will know the power of the Red Wizards. Soon, Sembia will fall under the Thayan banner.
In the docks of Selgaunt, a lone lookout sits atop a watchtower poised high above the dockmaster’s station. He peers out over the waters through his looking glass boredly. Another dreary day of trade and fishing, it seems. Suddenly something catches his eye. He focuses his eyeglass on a large ship cresting the horizon. Then there are two, and three, and more.
“Sir,” he calls down to his captain, “There is a fleet of ships headed for port.”
The captain looks up the tower stairs curiously before rummaging through his papers. He cannot find any record of a fleet being expected for at least another two tendays. He calls back up to the lookout.
“What banner do they fly?”
A long, uneasy pause follows.
“Dammit, Samuel,” the captain repeats, annoyed, “What bloody banner are they flying?”
Samuel’s response is meek and fearful, “Th-thayan… sir.”
The realization hits hard upon the brow of the captain. He stands in disbelief at the news, speechless for a moment before he collects himself and replaces his fear with anger.
“Get down here!” he calls up, “Alert the guard! We’re under attack!”
* * *
Nezumi sits perched atop his rooftop roost overlooking the city. He looks out over the vast cityscape to the docks and the tall ships with their billowed sails. This past year has taught him much. There has been talk amongst the kozas who have managed to avoid exile that a ship will be coming for them. The details are still unknown, but even the thought brings hope to their lives. Each day, more and more of his people are forced outside of the city, into the wilderness around without food or protection. Nezumi knows the ship will not come by day, but he must learn the path he will take if he is to be aboard it.
He is truly the Rat now. His gaunt frame is ghostly compared to the well-fed child he once was. He moves lithely through the alleys and backstreets, for they are his home, his refuge. His life is one of survival, of daily struggle. He has learned to beg, to steal, to do whatever is necessary to keep him alive for the hope that soon he will again be amongst his own people. The Coppers are his domain now. No longer does he fear the dogs and other denizens of the dark pathways. Any he cannot overwhelm with speed and agility, he avoids with wit and cunning.
Nezumi looks out over the city once more before carefully making his way to the streets below. He will sleep in the docks tonight so that he may be on the first ship out. Stealthily and carefully, he makes his way through the quiet evening streets, taking the long path around the noble districts where the black knights patrol. He quiets his steps as he reaches the docks, knowing that patrols will be out tonight.
Quietly, like a shadow, Nezumi slinks along the city wall toward the docks. Out of the darkness he hears a noise and instinctively crouches low, ready to run. He listens a moment, closing his eyes.
“Psst, boy”
Nezumi perks up, his guard dropped for a brief moment. The voice was in the Kozakuran tongue. He looks around the darkened alleys of the streets and spots the shadowed figure of a man, beckoning to him. Nezumi quickly crosses the wide street and ducks into the alleyway.
“You are here for the ship, yes?” the man questions without introduction.
Nezumi nods silently.
The stranger returns the nod, “It will be coming soon, out there.”
He points to the darkened horizon beyond the sleeping ships.
“We will have to swim.”
Nezumi goes cold a moment. Swim? He has never swum before in his life. Surely there will be a boat to collect them. He wishes to be with his people, but not as a drowned Rat. The man, however, does not seem to notice Nezumi’s dismay.
“There will be a signal, a flare. It is then that we move.”
Nezumi swallows hard and nods. They both rest back in the alley, actively watching the horizon. The night passes, and few words are shared. Worry begins to show on both of their faces, and the silence is broken.
“What is your name, boy? So that I may find you if this ship does not come,” the man asks.
“I am Nezumi,” the boy replies proudly.
The man chuckles softly, “Hardly a fitting name. No rat could have made it here on his own. We must find you a better one.”
The man looks around a moment for inspiration, then, turning his eyes to the sky, he smiles.
“Kuroyoru,” he says quietly, and Nezumi follows his gaze up into the dark night.
“Kuroyoru,” Nezumi repeats the name and smiles contently, “May I ask what yours is?”
“Matsuhara.”
Before any other pleasantries could be exchanged, a distant flash catches their attention. It is the signal, and both head for the water without another word. Kuroyoru hesitates a moment at the water’s edge while Matsuhara dives in, quickly swimming out into the darkness. Kuroyoru frowns at his own fear and follows, imitating Matsuhara’s motions in the water.
His arms flail and his legs kick as he struggles his way away from the shoreline toward where they had seen the flare. Water splashes into his eyes, burning them with salt and his mouth fills with the briny deep as he tries to look ahead for the ship that is his target. Kuroyoru swims forever, it seems, and his arms and legs grow fatigued, but the hope that the ship is near gives his body strength to continue.
Just as all seems lost, he notices that some of the stars have disappeared. He treads water a moment, frantically trying to keep his head up, and a smile crosses his lips as he realizes. A black ship. He begins to paddle his way toward the darkness and soon hears commotion. Before he can call out, something snags on the back of his shirt and he is lifted out of the water.
Kuroyoru finds himself hanging from the end of a hooked pole as some of the crewmen maneuver him onto the deck and set him down roughly. Fatigue has taken hold of him at this point and he cannot move as one of the crew walks over and studies him a moment before calling out.
“Hey, Cap’n Roberts!” the sailor cries out, “This’n’s just a lad.”
The boy turns his attention to the target of the cries, a rather stately-looking pirate with long black hair which he has pulled back into a ponytail. The captain wears a chain shirt under his bold, blue jacket and high, black boots that come up to the knees of his leather pants. He approaches Kuroyoru with all the swagger of a true pirate, his hand resting on the rapier that hangs at his side.
“Welly, welly, well,” the captain states as he looks the boy over, “Now wha’ do we ‘ave ‘ere.”
The captain squats to see the boy eye-to-eye and studies him a moment before motioning him closer with a smile. Kuroyoru summons what strength he can find and leans in.
“Not to worry, son,” the pirates whispers in kozakuran, “You are safe now.”
Kuroyoru can hardly believe his ears and in his surprise he forgets to wipe away the tears that start to fall. The captain stands and turns to one of the crew.
“Git this lad down inta th’ ‘old wit’ th’ others, aye?”
“Aye aye!” is the response, and Kuroyoru is helped to his feet and escorted below decks.
Far off the coast of Sembia, beyond the horizon, nestled safely at the edge of the Pirate Isles, a force is amassing. Those who would look upon could tell instantly what it was. The soldiers don their dark armor and board the ships, ushered and directed by their red-cloaked leaders. Soon the ships are full and the anchors are raised. A murmur can be heard from some of the vessels as a supernatural wind is raised to help push the mighty war fleet across the Sea into the waters of Sembia. The invasion has begun, and soon all will know the power of the Red Wizards. Soon, Sembia will fall under the Thayan banner.
In the docks of Selgaunt, a lone lookout sits atop a watchtower poised high above the dockmaster’s station. He peers out over the waters through his looking glass boredly. Another dreary day of trade and fishing, it seems. Suddenly something catches his eye. He focuses his eyeglass on a large ship cresting the horizon. Then there are two, and three, and more.
“Sir,” he calls down to his captain, “There is a fleet of ships headed for port.”
The captain looks up the tower stairs curiously before rummaging through his papers. He cannot find any record of a fleet being expected for at least another two tendays. He calls back up to the lookout.
“What banner do they fly?”
A long, uneasy pause follows.
“Dammit, Samuel,” the captain repeats, annoyed, “What bloody banner are they flying?”
Samuel’s response is meek and fearful, “Th-thayan… sir.”
The realization hits hard upon the brow of the captain. He stands in disbelief at the news, speechless for a moment before he collects himself and replaces his fear with anger.
“Get down here!” he calls up, “Alert the guard! We’re under attack!”
* * *
Nezumi sits perched atop his rooftop roost overlooking the city. He looks out over the vast cityscape to the docks and the tall ships with their billowed sails. This past year has taught him much. There has been talk amongst the kozas who have managed to avoid exile that a ship will be coming for them. The details are still unknown, but even the thought brings hope to their lives. Each day, more and more of his people are forced outside of the city, into the wilderness around without food or protection. Nezumi knows the ship will not come by day, but he must learn the path he will take if he is to be aboard it.
He is truly the Rat now. His gaunt frame is ghostly compared to the well-fed child he once was. He moves lithely through the alleys and backstreets, for they are his home, his refuge. His life is one of survival, of daily struggle. He has learned to beg, to steal, to do whatever is necessary to keep him alive for the hope that soon he will again be amongst his own people. The Coppers are his domain now. No longer does he fear the dogs and other denizens of the dark pathways. Any he cannot overwhelm with speed and agility, he avoids with wit and cunning.
Nezumi looks out over the city once more before carefully making his way to the streets below. He will sleep in the docks tonight so that he may be on the first ship out. Stealthily and carefully, he makes his way through the quiet evening streets, taking the long path around the noble districts where the black knights patrol. He quiets his steps as he reaches the docks, knowing that patrols will be out tonight.
Quietly, like a shadow, Nezumi slinks along the city wall toward the docks. Out of the darkness he hears a noise and instinctively crouches low, ready to run. He listens a moment, closing his eyes.
“Psst, boy”
Nezumi perks up, his guard dropped for a brief moment. The voice was in the Kozakuran tongue. He looks around the darkened alleys of the streets and spots the shadowed figure of a man, beckoning to him. Nezumi quickly crosses the wide street and ducks into the alleyway.
“You are here for the ship, yes?” the man questions without introduction.
Nezumi nods silently.
The stranger returns the nod, “It will be coming soon, out there.”
He points to the darkened horizon beyond the sleeping ships.
“We will have to swim.”
Nezumi goes cold a moment. Swim? He has never swum before in his life. Surely there will be a boat to collect them. He wishes to be with his people, but not as a drowned Rat. The man, however, does not seem to notice Nezumi’s dismay.
“There will be a signal, a flare. It is then that we move.”
Nezumi swallows hard and nods. They both rest back in the alley, actively watching the horizon. The night passes, and few words are shared. Worry begins to show on both of their faces, and the silence is broken.
“What is your name, boy? So that I may find you if this ship does not come,” the man asks.
“I am Nezumi,” the boy replies proudly.
The man chuckles softly, “Hardly a fitting name. No rat could have made it here on his own. We must find you a better one.”
The man looks around a moment for inspiration, then, turning his eyes to the sky, he smiles.
“Kuroyoru,” he says quietly, and Nezumi follows his gaze up into the dark night.
“Kuroyoru,” Nezumi repeats the name and smiles contently, “May I ask what yours is?”
“Matsuhara.”
Before any other pleasantries could be exchanged, a distant flash catches their attention. It is the signal, and both head for the water without another word. Kuroyoru hesitates a moment at the water’s edge while Matsuhara dives in, quickly swimming out into the darkness. Kuroyoru frowns at his own fear and follows, imitating Matsuhara’s motions in the water.
His arms flail and his legs kick as he struggles his way away from the shoreline toward where they had seen the flare. Water splashes into his eyes, burning them with salt and his mouth fills with the briny deep as he tries to look ahead for the ship that is his target. Kuroyoru swims forever, it seems, and his arms and legs grow fatigued, but the hope that the ship is near gives his body strength to continue.
Just as all seems lost, he notices that some of the stars have disappeared. He treads water a moment, frantically trying to keep his head up, and a smile crosses his lips as he realizes. A black ship. He begins to paddle his way toward the darkness and soon hears commotion. Before he can call out, something snags on the back of his shirt and he is lifted out of the water.
Kuroyoru finds himself hanging from the end of a hooked pole as some of the crewmen maneuver him onto the deck and set him down roughly. Fatigue has taken hold of him at this point and he cannot move as one of the crew walks over and studies him a moment before calling out.
“Hey, Cap’n Roberts!” the sailor cries out, “This’n’s just a lad.”
The boy turns his attention to the target of the cries, a rather stately-looking pirate with long black hair which he has pulled back into a ponytail. The captain wears a chain shirt under his bold, blue jacket and high, black boots that come up to the knees of his leather pants. He approaches Kuroyoru with all the swagger of a true pirate, his hand resting on the rapier that hangs at his side.
“Welly, welly, well,” the captain states as he looks the boy over, “Now wha’ do we ‘ave ‘ere.”
The captain squats to see the boy eye-to-eye and studies him a moment before motioning him closer with a smile. Kuroyoru summons what strength he can find and leans in.
“Not to worry, son,” the pirates whispers in kozakuran, “You are safe now.”
Kuroyoru can hardly believe his ears and in his surprise he forgets to wipe away the tears that start to fall. The captain stands and turns to one of the crew.
“Git this lad down inta th’ ‘old wit’ th’ others, aye?”
“Aye aye!” is the response, and Kuroyoru is helped to his feet and escorted below decks.
"...a smile that Judas in Hell might be proud of."
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
-
RangerDeWood
- Ogre
- Posts: 633
- Joined: Sun Jan 11, 2004 6:03 am
- Location: Pittsburgh, PA
- Contact:
Shin had just sat down to a light lunch when the alarm was sound. Confusion quickly took over as Shin’s father moved to the doorway to see what was happening. Shin and his mother soon followed, standing at the doorway as they looked out over the kozakuran district.
People were scattering everywhere. Men were armed and dressed in their traditional armor, escorting women and children back into their houses to contain the disorder as large projectiles flew through the air, bombarding the city and starting many fires throughout its mass. Shin’s father frowned as he realized what was happening.
“The city is under attack,” he said grimly, “My help will be needed.”
With that he made his way to his study and began donning his finely-crafted armor. He stood, an imposing form in his bold red and blue samurai shell. He moved to the swords that lay in rest upon the mantle and whispered a short prayer over them before removing them and fastening them at his side.
Meanwhile, Shin and his mother stood helplessly looking out the door as the destruction drew closer. The projectiles came closer and closer and screams are all that could be heard between the crashing of rock against wood and stone. Fires raged throughout the city now, and the sky had turned red with their light. The distant clatter of battle could barely be heard over the frightened cries of the terrified kozas.
Just as Shin’s father reached the door, a flaming stone crashed down, leveling the neighboring house. Shin hid in his mother arms, his face buried in her dress, his cries muffled. Shin’s father strode defiantly out into the battlefield that was their home and disappeared into the smoke and chaos.
Shin’s mother rushed him inside and quickly led him into the kitchen where she threw aside tables and chairs with supernatural strength. She hastily threw open a trap door that housed their root cellar and ushered Shin inside. No sooner is Shin safe within the small cellar than a cry is heard near their home.
“They send demons against us!”
Shin’s mother turns to look where the cry came from. Just as she turns back, the house is shaken by some unseen force and she collapses, the trap door closing under her weight. Shin tries to cry out, but his voice is overwhelmed by the clatter of faltering wood as part of the house falls in upon itself.
Then there is only darkness.
Shin sits a long time, huddled in fear in the dark root cellar, the only light coming through the floorboards above as the fires still rage on. The screams of the dying fill his ears and tears fall endlessly from his eyes as his young mind shatters under the weight of what is happening. He mourns his mother and his father. The demons have taken them. After the cries end and the fires die, he will learn the true destruction above. He will learn of the Thayans and their fire demons. But for now there is only the deep comfort of darkness, and he lets it overtake him.
* * *
He awakes.
He opens his eyes, but the light is dim. He tries to breathe, but the air is thick and heavy. As his eyes adjust he remembers where he is and looks around the small hold at the crowded Kozakurans who fill it. His senses return and he hears the creak of the ship’s boards in the surf and smells the stench of bodies kept too close together. So this is salvation.
It has been days since he escaped Selgaunt with these refugees, and they have spent the entire voyage packed into the hold like sardines. Many rest upon each other, but Kuroyoru managed to find himself a quiet corner that he has kept his own. Seldom do they move, other than to stretch whatever limbs can be pulled free. The sailors sleep in the same hold, though have slightly more room to move about to do their duties. Oddly enough, Kuroyoru noticed that some of the crew is in fact Kozakuran; a fact that brings him some reassurance that this ship is truly headed in the right direction.
In the huddle mass, whispers of suspicion and hope can be heard. Some believe that they have been tricked and are merely being sent to another country to live under the same oppression that they had in Selgaunt. Others believe the ship is going across the Sea of Fallen Stars completely to allow them to travel back to the home of their ancestors. Still more speak rumors of a land that none have seen, one where the Kozakurans can create a new homeland and live happily without worry for the outside world. Kuroyoru laughs at their idle talk, as he truly does not care where they land, as long as it gives him the opportunity to start anew.
As Kuroyoru rests in his huddled corner, a high pitched whistle can be heard above deck and the sailors below quickly scramble topside. All of the refugees turn their attention to the ruckus being made above them and for once there is silence amongst them. Without warning, the ship quickly jerks to a stop as the anchor catches on the seabed. Immediately, the refugees begin chattering in joyful anticipation. A kozakuran sailor comes down the ladder from the topdeck and stands before the anxious passengers. He holds his hands up to silence the crowd and speaks in a soft, yet firm, tone.
“We have arrived at our destination safely and without incident.”
A cheer erupts from the refugees, echoing in the small hold and building into a deafening applause. The sailor holds his hands up again and waits for the crowd to slowly calm.
“We will unload in an orderly fashion,” he continues, “I will not be seeing any who have fought so hard to be here trampled beneath the feet of the impatient.”
With that he stood aside and motioned for the kozakurans to climb the ladder. As orderly as is possible, the refugees made their way up the ladder and into the sunlight above. Kuroyoru followed in suit and slowly made his way out, shielding his eyes against the sun as his head peered out in the open air, followed quickly by the rest of his body. He stood a short while, taking in his new surroundings.
The ship was anchored in a well-sheltered alcove overlooked by a high cliff on the right. The gangplank had been laid down onto the shore to the left. A stream cut around the cliff and emptied out into the small bay, dividing the land in two. A path could be seen cut from the shore, across a crude bridge over the stream, and up the hillside until it met with a makeshift palisade that encircled the top of the cliff. Before Kuroyoru could determine more, he was pushed toward the gangplank and made his way off the ship. As he reached the shore, one of the kozakuran sailors pulled him aside and spoke quietly to him.
“Fujita-sama wishes to speak with you in private,” is all the man said.
Kuroyoru stood a moment, giving the man a confused look, and was pointed toward a small shack that had been built on the shore, near the bay. He made his way to the shack and studied it a moment. As he went to knock on the door, it opened. Kuroyoru timidly stepped inside and was faced with a man in a formal kimono sitting comfortably on a cushion at a low table. The man’s face showed his age and wisdom, and his fu man chu was neatly groomed and hung to his chest. He wore the hat of a statesman, and surely looked the part. To either side of him stood an armed soldier, crudely armored but holding a spear, and similarly outfitted man stood at the side of the door. The man motioned for Kuroyoru to sit at the table with him. As the boy did so, the man smiled contently.
“We have been watching you, Nezumi,” the man said calmly.
“Kuroyoru”
The man lifted an eyebrow in question.
“My name is Kuroyoru,” the boy repeated, “not Nezumi.”
The man simply grinned.
“Of course, Kuroyoru,” the man nodded in apology, “I am Fujita. I am the leader of this Enclave, and as I said, we have been watching you for some time. Through the assistance of some close… friends, we have been able to rescue many of our people from Selgaunt; but our task is not complete. The Konishi clan has lost much in the war between Sembia and Thay and we wish to take it back. I understand that you lost your family in the war.”
Kuroyoru nods grimly.
Fujita returns the gesture, “Good, then you can understand our position. We have decided to take you into our clan, to teach you what you need to know, to make you a Konishi. You will have all of the benefits of the finest families, but we expect you to be obedient and consider us your own. Would you like this?”
The boy smiles at the thought of “family” again and answers with enthusiasm, “Yes.”
The man smiles and nods, “I am pleased. There is much that needs to be done. Welcome to the Enclave, Konishi Kuroyoru.”
People were scattering everywhere. Men were armed and dressed in their traditional armor, escorting women and children back into their houses to contain the disorder as large projectiles flew through the air, bombarding the city and starting many fires throughout its mass. Shin’s father frowned as he realized what was happening.
“The city is under attack,” he said grimly, “My help will be needed.”
With that he made his way to his study and began donning his finely-crafted armor. He stood, an imposing form in his bold red and blue samurai shell. He moved to the swords that lay in rest upon the mantle and whispered a short prayer over them before removing them and fastening them at his side.
Meanwhile, Shin and his mother stood helplessly looking out the door as the destruction drew closer. The projectiles came closer and closer and screams are all that could be heard between the crashing of rock against wood and stone. Fires raged throughout the city now, and the sky had turned red with their light. The distant clatter of battle could barely be heard over the frightened cries of the terrified kozas.
Just as Shin’s father reached the door, a flaming stone crashed down, leveling the neighboring house. Shin hid in his mother arms, his face buried in her dress, his cries muffled. Shin’s father strode defiantly out into the battlefield that was their home and disappeared into the smoke and chaos.
Shin’s mother rushed him inside and quickly led him into the kitchen where she threw aside tables and chairs with supernatural strength. She hastily threw open a trap door that housed their root cellar and ushered Shin inside. No sooner is Shin safe within the small cellar than a cry is heard near their home.
“They send demons against us!”
Shin’s mother turns to look where the cry came from. Just as she turns back, the house is shaken by some unseen force and she collapses, the trap door closing under her weight. Shin tries to cry out, but his voice is overwhelmed by the clatter of faltering wood as part of the house falls in upon itself.
Then there is only darkness.
Shin sits a long time, huddled in fear in the dark root cellar, the only light coming through the floorboards above as the fires still rage on. The screams of the dying fill his ears and tears fall endlessly from his eyes as his young mind shatters under the weight of what is happening. He mourns his mother and his father. The demons have taken them. After the cries end and the fires die, he will learn the true destruction above. He will learn of the Thayans and their fire demons. But for now there is only the deep comfort of darkness, and he lets it overtake him.
* * *
He awakes.
He opens his eyes, but the light is dim. He tries to breathe, but the air is thick and heavy. As his eyes adjust he remembers where he is and looks around the small hold at the crowded Kozakurans who fill it. His senses return and he hears the creak of the ship’s boards in the surf and smells the stench of bodies kept too close together. So this is salvation.
It has been days since he escaped Selgaunt with these refugees, and they have spent the entire voyage packed into the hold like sardines. Many rest upon each other, but Kuroyoru managed to find himself a quiet corner that he has kept his own. Seldom do they move, other than to stretch whatever limbs can be pulled free. The sailors sleep in the same hold, though have slightly more room to move about to do their duties. Oddly enough, Kuroyoru noticed that some of the crew is in fact Kozakuran; a fact that brings him some reassurance that this ship is truly headed in the right direction.
In the huddle mass, whispers of suspicion and hope can be heard. Some believe that they have been tricked and are merely being sent to another country to live under the same oppression that they had in Selgaunt. Others believe the ship is going across the Sea of Fallen Stars completely to allow them to travel back to the home of their ancestors. Still more speak rumors of a land that none have seen, one where the Kozakurans can create a new homeland and live happily without worry for the outside world. Kuroyoru laughs at their idle talk, as he truly does not care where they land, as long as it gives him the opportunity to start anew.
As Kuroyoru rests in his huddled corner, a high pitched whistle can be heard above deck and the sailors below quickly scramble topside. All of the refugees turn their attention to the ruckus being made above them and for once there is silence amongst them. Without warning, the ship quickly jerks to a stop as the anchor catches on the seabed. Immediately, the refugees begin chattering in joyful anticipation. A kozakuran sailor comes down the ladder from the topdeck and stands before the anxious passengers. He holds his hands up to silence the crowd and speaks in a soft, yet firm, tone.
“We have arrived at our destination safely and without incident.”
A cheer erupts from the refugees, echoing in the small hold and building into a deafening applause. The sailor holds his hands up again and waits for the crowd to slowly calm.
“We will unload in an orderly fashion,” he continues, “I will not be seeing any who have fought so hard to be here trampled beneath the feet of the impatient.”
With that he stood aside and motioned for the kozakurans to climb the ladder. As orderly as is possible, the refugees made their way up the ladder and into the sunlight above. Kuroyoru followed in suit and slowly made his way out, shielding his eyes against the sun as his head peered out in the open air, followed quickly by the rest of his body. He stood a short while, taking in his new surroundings.
The ship was anchored in a well-sheltered alcove overlooked by a high cliff on the right. The gangplank had been laid down onto the shore to the left. A stream cut around the cliff and emptied out into the small bay, dividing the land in two. A path could be seen cut from the shore, across a crude bridge over the stream, and up the hillside until it met with a makeshift palisade that encircled the top of the cliff. Before Kuroyoru could determine more, he was pushed toward the gangplank and made his way off the ship. As he reached the shore, one of the kozakuran sailors pulled him aside and spoke quietly to him.
“Fujita-sama wishes to speak with you in private,” is all the man said.
Kuroyoru stood a moment, giving the man a confused look, and was pointed toward a small shack that had been built on the shore, near the bay. He made his way to the shack and studied it a moment. As he went to knock on the door, it opened. Kuroyoru timidly stepped inside and was faced with a man in a formal kimono sitting comfortably on a cushion at a low table. The man’s face showed his age and wisdom, and his fu man chu was neatly groomed and hung to his chest. He wore the hat of a statesman, and surely looked the part. To either side of him stood an armed soldier, crudely armored but holding a spear, and similarly outfitted man stood at the side of the door. The man motioned for Kuroyoru to sit at the table with him. As the boy did so, the man smiled contently.
“We have been watching you, Nezumi,” the man said calmly.
“Kuroyoru”
The man lifted an eyebrow in question.
“My name is Kuroyoru,” the boy repeated, “not Nezumi.”
The man simply grinned.
“Of course, Kuroyoru,” the man nodded in apology, “I am Fujita. I am the leader of this Enclave, and as I said, we have been watching you for some time. Through the assistance of some close… friends, we have been able to rescue many of our people from Selgaunt; but our task is not complete. The Konishi clan has lost much in the war between Sembia and Thay and we wish to take it back. I understand that you lost your family in the war.”
Kuroyoru nods grimly.
Fujita returns the gesture, “Good, then you can understand our position. We have decided to take you into our clan, to teach you what you need to know, to make you a Konishi. You will have all of the benefits of the finest families, but we expect you to be obedient and consider us your own. Would you like this?”
The boy smiles at the thought of “family” again and answers with enthusiasm, “Yes.”
The man smiles and nods, “I am pleased. There is much that needs to be done. Welcome to the Enclave, Konishi Kuroyoru.”
"...a smile that Judas in Hell might be proud of."
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people:
Check out my YouTube channel, all you lovely people: