The Age of War (DudeMeister and Evette)

[DudeMeister]

A warm glow emanated from the fuse, his breath brushing against the treated cord to keep it lit. Toranosuke felt the stones shift beneath his feet once he squeezed, the violent kick of the butt of the harquebus preceding the deafening explosion. The propelled ball collided with the target fifty feet away, causing the bits of straw to spray rampantly as the dō seemed to implode at the force of the teppo the seasoned warrior had just fired.

Yamasaki Toranosuke had seen much on the battlefield in his years of service to Honda Tadakatsu, renown general for Tokugawa Ieyasu. His martial prowess would eventually contribute to the legend of his master's invincibility, having served as his bodyguard in many campaigns for the past few years. He was of average height but with an imposing presence nonetheless, his shoulders were broad and his forearms were sinewy from years of training in the military arts. He wore his hair in the typical chonmage, save for an unshaven pate. His eyes were focused and stern like a hawk's, as able to read people as they were able to strike fear into an adversary when gazing through kabuto and mempo. A long scar from the beginning of his career spanned diagonally across his face, however other than that souvenir he wasn't maimed further than that.

As a samurai of modest beginnings, Toranosuke rose to his current station through valor and loyalty. Despite his accomplishments with sword and spear, a great marksman he was not. He could never pull a strong bow or fire an arrow accurately, yet after only three days of enduring the stench of black powder he was able to hit his mark at a farther distance than he ever could with the bow. There was much debate amongst his peers over the usefulness of the barbarian's armaments, but he had to test the weapon for himself. What he saw looked like the beginning of the end for his way of life...if only they could be fired in rapid succession. Hearing rapidly approaching footsteps, he exchanged the gun for his prized blade from his page, undoing the cords of his red jingasa that bore the same scorch marks as the white training kimono he wore from his morning's marksmanship training just in time to receive the messenger's dispatches.

---------

"Tora-san, I've been told you've recently taken to the tanegashima. What are your thoughts concerning its use?"

Toranosuke managed to bathe and don more formal attire. Wearing a dark green kimono and grey hakama, his kataginu bore the emblem of the Honda clan. Expecting to be called to his shift as his lord presided over courtly matters of the day, he instead found himself seated in the formal seiza position outside the shoji of his master's study, his sword resting beside his right knee with the curve of it's edge facing it. After a moment of deliberation, the battler spoke.

"Dono, I feel I'm not gifted enough in strategy to comment on its function on the battlefield, but I'm sure those more qualified than I can see its merit" he replied. His ears heard the shaft of his master's quill click slightly against the writing desk, the subtle creak in the floor as he stood and the brushing of the tabi against the tatami as he walked out of the room. Lowering his head reverently, he backed away as his lord emerged and stared out into the garden surrounding the structure that served as his quarters. His eyes leveled to him as he saw him stand there thoughtfully. Having swapped his armor and trademark antlered kabuto for bright silken garb, the lord looked quite different from his earlier distinction at Anegawa.

"You sell yourself short Tora-san. Nobunaga-san used these arms to great affect only recently. You were there were you not?" Tadakatsu said, smiling slightly as he turned to his bodyguard.

"On to business then: I've just received word from Ieyasu-san summoning us to a war council. Can I trust you to help with the preparations?"

"Yes tono. Do you know why we were summoned?" Toranosuke inquired.

"Perhaps something to do with our lord's recent change in allegiance. Takeda Shingen is not someone easily scorned after all"

 

[Evette]

Fire.

They all lived in a house of fire, with no one to call out to, and in many ways - no way out. The okiya had burned in the year of the dragon, and Korin had just been named atotori, the new daughter of the okiya. Like some great beast, it would no longer follow her, but finally digest her debt-- freeing her in ways, while trapping her as it's master.

The year had not been a lucky one for the geisha for Okaa-san did not bind her as daughter in any legal way, but instead sold her contract all together. Her's and the rest of her sisters'. And when the final salvaged kimono sold and the last of the gold koban changed hands-- their mother disappeared.

And Korin faced the ravages of the Yoshiwara district, or the sweet song of an honorable death. The hanamachi of her childhood faded into distant dreaming ghosts, and Korin had found her dagger in the folds of her old maiko nagajuban; the thin red robe: a last vestige of what she was, and no longer could be.

That was before Ichijō-dono returned. A prosperous client of her's and friend of the okiya. He had found Korin at her twin brother's house, under the eye of a singularly omnipotent moon, and the general Ichijō brought news of his older brother-- Takeda Shingen.

--

Korin stole a selfish moment to run the her hand along the length of a Takeda silk kimono. The soft texture beneath her unworthy palms was a stolen slice of paradise. A small kernal of happiness nestled between her ribs, keeping her warm in the coming trials that seemed so very impossible.

Akagi Korin was the last daughter of the house of the Katsumi Okiya in a beautiful, but dying hanamachi west of Edo. She was a senior Geisha at the age of twenty-four, shown by her muted white make up, and full red lips.

The paths of her sisters had been woven in tragedy, where Korin had been saved. She had met the heralded daimyo Takeda and his family in the secluded mountains of the Kai Province. He had bought her contract, and gave her her the the most arduous assignment yet-- too gather intel on the Tiger of Kai's enemy: Honda Tadakatsu.

Takeda had been a seemingly underwhelming and busy man, but Korin had known better than to judge the man's layers by the first. She had gently cajoled a conversation with the daimyo, conversed with him about his fragile but passionate love affair of poetry, and even saw one of his beautiful war fans. They spoke for a long time, about other things such as his love of his son and even briefly about his well known rivalry and enemy-- the Dragon Uesugi Kenshin.

She had left the conversation with a warmth kind of loyalty in her bones, the promise of honor at her fingertips and a new purpose. She left for Otaki not soon after that.

Now, she arrived at the Honda castle. There has been a strange cacophony of sound that bounced off the tall walls, and froze the heart of the geisha in her chest. What they were, she did not dare ask, only seeing glimpses of men in the fields and small fiery explosions that reminded the geisha of the summer hanabi she'd seen in Edo once before. She did her best to be demure within the walls of this enemy, not show a sign of fright that crawled up her veins like insects.

The geisha instead focused her attention on the her 'maiko' Komihiro. The beautiful girl was no older than eighteen, but was older for a maiko. She had started only when she was fifteen, and had been under the Takeda wing since. She was to make her debut here, at the Honda estate to show case and eventually bid her mizuage. She would catch the eye of one of the generals, or if luck would have it-- the daimyo himself.

The only problem was, of the night if the debut, she had seemed to come across a bad case of chills and vomiting.

Korin placed her cool hands on the back of the naked neck of the maiko, rubbing her gently and taking out her hair pins so that she would not ruin them.

"I told you not to eat today, " Korin said soothingly, her face immaculately made, donning the delicate flowers of gold in her hair, and dark red lips. Her eyes were clever, and her cheek bones sharp, but her beauty was an understated one-- one caught in the nakedness of her white jawline, or the smoothness of her step. She wore a black and white stripped kimono with a blood-red obi and gold leaf. Summery and practical, and very much to Takeda-sama's taste.

Komi did not stop her vomiting behind the shoji of the entertainer's quarters and Korin looked at her destroyed nihongami-styled hair, finding it to be a lost cause now. She could not fix it in time for tonight's debut, and so she called upon a servant woman to attend her maiko, while she had to deduce a plan for the next coming hours.

While walking to her room, she dashed, taking off her shoes in a very non-graceful manner only to walk swiftly. The geisha had thoughts curled on that of her shamisen, thinking of a song she could play-- or perhaps a favored dance with her fans when she ran unabashedly into a man that was more akin to hitting a rock than an actual person.

Korin did not collapse, but tripped to one knee, thankful to not hear a rip of thread or the shatter of a comb on the floor. She gathered herself quickly, bowing her head in apology to whomever general she had just rudely bumped into, lifting her head to catch the deep color of eyes and the flicker of a scar she did not recognize. Her heart shuttered a moment at the raw handsomeness of the man, but she did not dare let her eyes linger too long. Bowing demurely, the geisha offered profuse apologies.

"Sumi masen, I was not looking where I was going. Please forgive me," she breathed. Heart racing in her ears, a warmth in her cheeks he could not see.

 

[DudeMeister]

In the two weeks leading up to the Honda clan's hospitality of the retinues of both Oda Nobunaga and Tokugawa Ieyasu, the infamous Tiger of Sawara saw little sleep. Although a war council was expected amongst those attending, it would reflect poorly upon the Honda clan if they didn't receive the great lords with all the pomp and ceremony that was expected. Thus the duties of resource management and event planning were added on the already daunting task of security management.

Rice was collected from the domain, as was pickled vegetables, miso, fish and salt. Chefs well practiced in their arts were retained to prepare the feasts meant to satisfy their guests' pallets. Toranosuke had even gone through great lengths to procure goods from Nagasaki: meats preserved in salt imported from Ryukyu and even red western sake that Nobunaga-sama was reputed to have developed a taste for. Arrangements were as well made to have entertainers of many arts brought to Honda castle. Geishas, artisans and poets lauded in the Imperial court were invited. All of it was very tedious and time consuming.

And expensive...

The dark bags beneath his eyes certainly made him look sullen, but he presented himself admirably as he welcomed their guests at the main gate of Honda Castle. Simple in the manner of his attire, he wore a formal outfit comprised of kimono, hakama and kataginu. His daisho bore simple black fittings, save for the faded cotton of the tsuka-ito, the corded wrappings of the hilt of his blades often gripped in both practice and mortal conflict.

He had received Nobunaga-sama and his vast entourage first. The famed warlord of Owari was garbed in high quality vestments slightly dusted and worn from travel, save for a foreign jingasa of black cloth that was ornamented with a peculiar feather. The beads he wore around his neck held a talisman he only heard of, a crucifix with special significance for the religious sect followed by most foreigners that found themselves on their shores. Kirishitans he believed they were called. Bowing formally as he allowed them to pass, he caught site of the foreigners clad all in black, the most diminutive of them surpassing him in height but lacking athletic vigor.

He heard only bits of information about the lands of the far west. Men who fought on both land and sea, who traded with the lands previously under the domain of the feared Kublai Khan, the great tyrant that the great kami punished with their divine typhoon. In their distant past men quite like him fought in their wars of resource or faith: soldiers clad fully in luminous steel upon great steeds of war who subscribed to a code much like their own. The men who accompanied Nobunaga-sama didn't evoke such awe inspiring imagery. There seemed to be base cunning in their cautious dealings, inspired by their will to survive in this land and their obsessive need to clutch their books bound in leather.

"Tokugawa Ieyasu-sama, it is my supreme privilege to welcome you to this estate. Please permit me the honor of escorting you and your retinue to your accommodations" he recited when the time came. The warlord returned the courtesy with a nod as from his seat upon his horse as another samurai lead a detachment of spearmen through the gates. Toranoske didn't know who the man was, but his movements were cautious and his body language lacked ostentation. He stood at a minimum of ten feet from him at all times, bearing himself in profile and facing him with his weapon side. The way he appraised Toranosuke and the way his hand rested near the tsuba of his sword showed the situational awareness of one experienced in combat. His accent marked him as a man from Satsuma as he gave out orders, shoulders often rolling as if unaccustomed to the lightness of silken garb alone. Whoever he was he was deadly and as a man of possibly forty years he lived quite long in a career where most die young and abruptly.

Although they were all allies today, Toranosuke imprinted that samurai in particular. He mentally noted to himself to make the proper introduction to learn the man's identity. One never knew what allies were best to make...or who to be wary of should bonds of camaraderie were broken and dangerous men were once again forced to face one another on the battlefield. Perhaps it was this that weighed on his mind that night as the preparations culminated in the grand feast, or maybe it was the woman's well practiced and light step that caused the brief collision.

His brief reaction to aid her dissipated as she collected herself quickly. He stepped back to reestablish a proper distance between them as he heard her apology. Her tone was polite. Her hair was worn in an immaculate coiffure, white makeup applied to her face, and her lips were the lustful red that men often got lost in. Seeing the beauty before him he smirked slightly, briefly smoothing out the front of his attire as he chuckled softly.

"My apologies, the fault is shared on my part. I hope I haven't caused any inconvenience. Are you scheduled to perform for the lords this evening?" he inquired