NationStates Jolt Archive

OOC: This is my new start of a PT version of my nation. It has no relation to anything of my FT activities. It is based on a mix of Chinese and Japanese culture. Here is a map I created for your viewing pleasure, showing the different fiefdoms of the daimyo involved and their general location. Map (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/mapofempire.jpg). In the rp there exists a Great Wall that seperates the entire area from the north, where a larger area of land is. I leave this to the unknown in the happen-stance that someone should wish to rp with me.

IC:


The light passed through the branches like golden lances. Cherry blossoms cascaded down in flurries of shapes, molded by the hands of the wind. The white cobble stone lane was smooth and flat, a cherry tree placed every twenty paces beside it. Beyond the line of trees to the left you could see the quiet surface of the Shufi River.

Walking slowly down this road was a man of unusual tall stature. Unlike most men, who were at a height of ten and a half hands, he was a full eleven and one eight in height. His back was straight as he walked, kept iron hard through the discipline instilled in him since he was a child. The blue-white ceremonial robe he wore looked marvelous, giving him a dashing look. His mantle accentuated his already bread shoulders, defining them like a mason defines a stones edge. Thrust arrogantly in his sash were two swords and a shorter sword, his mark as a member of the warrior caste.

Soldiers dressed in gilded gold armor lined the side of the road as well, standing as solid as any of the trees. But as each was passed by this strutting man, they bowed low; for he was Moritomo Yoshitsune, one of the most powerful daimyo in all of the Celestial Empire.

Before Yoshitsune and at the end of the cobble stone road was a great marble cut stair. It rose up beyond the trees to a great palace. Giant red lacquered columns, cut from the great Yaungi trees of the Huan Forest, kept stretched to the heavens a massive roof. Clay tiles were lined neatly on the roof, each painted gold. At intervals along the side of the roof were silver statues, some depicting the Heavenly Goddess, the others depicting the Great Dragon, the symbol of the Imperial Throne. This was the home of the Celestial Emperor, the spiritual ruler of the Empire and political figure head.

Waiting for Yoshitsune before the stair were two men dressed in white pantaloon pants and black upper robes. Tall wedged silver hats sat on their heads. Each was old and had a graying beard to prove their veneration. Each had been a member of the Imperial court for more than four decades. They bowed as one to Yoshitsune, who in turn bowed back.

“The Emperor is greatly pleased at your timely arrival,” announced the man on the left.

“The court is prepared to convene for the opening ceremony,” added the second. “You are the third to arrive.”

“Who was first,” asked Yoshitsune bluntly. Both stiffened at the question, knowing that the warlord before them had quite intentionally broken the usual formal system of speech which allowed individuals to protect their personal honor and save face should mistakes occur in the conversation. The impertinence was a trademark for Yoshitsune.

“Lord Fukutaka Sho was the first daimyo to arrive,” replied the two in unison. “Lord Ito Hajime the second.”

Both Lord Ito and Lord Fukutaka were Yoshitsune’s rivals. Their clans had fought one another on and off for the last hundred years. That is until now, at the behest of the Divine Emperor of the Celestial Empire of Thrashia.

“Give my regards to Lord Hodo Kaijin when he arrives,” said Yoshitsune. He bowed to the ministers, who bowed back, and stalked up the stairs. Neither minister was sad to see him go.


As Yoshitsune’s clean shaven face turned the corner around yet another passage way, led by a court servant, he found himself in a large audience room. The tatami mats were of the finest artisans; six great, gold lacquered columns held up the room and made it look even wider. Sitting on either side behind the columns were rows of kneeling court advisors and other officials.

At the far end of the room was a raised dais. On it sat a man, legs crossed over a silk pillow, wearing the golden-red robes of the Imperial Family, a black dragon emblazed on his chest. From three hundred paces away Yoshitsune bowed at the waste. A small gong sounded, he was allowed to approach.

Once he reached within a hundred paces, two court guards stepped forward and bowed formally to him. He returned the bow and took his long sword from his sash, handing it reverently to the guard, who in turn bowed over the sword in respect. Yoshitsune’s eyes turned away from the retreating guards and looked at the Emperor, bowing a second time.

This time, instead of a gong, he heard a simple yet educated voice call out. “Come forward Moritomo Yoshitsune, Lord of Shikai, and Son of Moritomo Hideyori.” It was the Emperor’s voice. Without hesitation Yoshitsune marched forward and bowed ten paces from the dais.

Beside him, on either side already seated, were Lord Ito and Lord Fukutaka. Yoshitsune bowed first to the Emperor, then to each of his fellow daimyo. Each bowed back in return, the Emperor’s bow less low as was natural.

“Welcome to my palace, Lord Moritomo,” said Emperor Go-Gijo. His face was wrinkled with age and his beard and perfectly formed hair were spotted with gray. A well kept beard lay across his chest and his grin made his face wrinkle even more.

“I am honored to be here, my lord Emperor,” replied Yoshitsune, using the language of the court. He turned to his left and right. “And it is a pleasure to meet you lords, my fellow daimyo here in peace.”

“It is indeed,” added Lord Ito. The older daimyo was the smallest man in the room, or had to be. Though small, the daimyo more than made up with it in ruthlessness. More than two times now Lord Ito had come close to claiming Yoshitsune’s head in combat. Each time he’d only just escape to fight again another day.

“A peace granted by the divine will of the Emperor. We are all equally honored by that,” Lord Fukutaka inserted.

While Ito was small and fierce, Fukutaka was large and calm. His nick name was Hajon-ki, which meant ‘great quiet storm’, among the other daimyo of the land. He had a reputation to be eternally patient, letting his enemies rail at each other before stepping in and destroying them with repose and aloofness. Yoshitsune’s father had been in alliance with the Fukutaka clan for a decade, though that peace had looked to be deteriorating over the last year as border disputes rose.

“I am more than willing to bring peace to my people,” said Emperor Go-Gijo. “Which is why I called the five greatest warlords in the land to my palace, to talk about the future of the Empire.”

The doors at the rear end of the audience chamber opened and two other well dressed figures appeared. They went through the same process that Yoshitsune had and stopped before the dais, bowing first to the Emperor and then to their fellow daimyo.

“Welcome Lords Hodo Kaijin and Dokoro Ikimaru,” greeted the emperor. Yoshitsune bowed to his childhood friend Kaijin and did likewise with Ikimaru, as protocol demanded.

“Now, let us begin the meeting.”

“It should be no surprise to you daimyo as to why I have asked you to come here, to Tokai,” said Emperor Go-Gijo. “Of the 259 daimyo throughout the Celestial Empire of Thrashia, you five are the strongest by great margins.”

“It is our pleasure and honor to be here,” replied Lord Ikimaru. The new arrival daimyo was thin and had a sickly pallor about him. Yet as far as Yoshitsune knew, the man was the healthiest, and richest, man alive. The Ikimaru clan owned one of the wealthiest fiefs in the entire Empire.

Each of the other five daimyo quietly agreed in a murmur and slightly bowed to the Emperor again. Go-Gijo accepted the flattery with a wave of his hand.

“War has wracked out great nation for well over two hundred years, since the creation of the Great Divide,” continued Go-Gijo. “I wish an end to the fighting, seeing as no one warlord amongst you seems to be able to take the title of Shogun.”

Shogun. The title was the desire of every daimyo in the land. It could only be given by the Emperor to the supreme daimyo of the empire, one who had by right of combat defeated the vast majority of his foes, and largely subjugated the Empire under his sole command. Only once that was accomplished could the daimyo then come humbly to the Imperial City of Tokai and petition the Emperor to be granted the ancient title of the supreme military ruler in the Empire, the effective ruler in all aspects of the land.

Kaijin bristled at the barbed statement. He politely bowed, recognizing that he wished to speak. “I disagree my lord. The time is soon when a warlord will rise. Did the soothsayer not say as such? That one would rise in the Era of the Hawk?”

“You would correct Lord Hodo,” returned the Emperor. “However I have put little stock in that foretelling. Its other aspects have not come to pass.”

“That ‘the greatest spirit –head in the land shall know the taste of mortal and know not the living eternalness of the Heavenly Goddess’,” quoted Lord Fukutaka. “The death of the Divine Emperor.”

“Indeed,” nodded the Emperor. “That old prophesy made it clear that I or one of my fore fathers must die a violent death before a warlord rises. And seeing as I remain here, in the Forbidden City, no hand can touch me.”

“Nor would any true daimyo or warlord wish to see that pass,” said Lord Ito solemnly. Yoshitsune frowned inwardly. Lord Ito really wanted to get on the Emperor’s good side.

“That is true,” added Lord Fukutaka.

“I don’t think peace will come either way. From either what the prophesy says or what this meeting is about,” said Yoshitsune, once again bluntly smashing into the conversation, straight to the point. The Emperor grinned at him. All the daimyo were cautiously looking to see if his head would role. The court members were practically swooning from such a show of disrespect.

“Why is that Lord Moritomo?” inquired Go-Gijo. He admired the brash young daimyo.

“Because even though you may will upon us the desire to have peace, it will simply not come. I swore an oath over my father’s ashes that I would achieve the Shogunate.” He turned his head and stuck a thumb at his fellow daimyo. “And these men have done similar acts, acts and oaths that if broken would put a black mark on our honor. It simply cannot be done.”

“I agree with Lord Moritomo,” said Kaijin. “I have done a similar vow over my grandfather’s grave.”

“As have I,” added Ikimaru.

“As have we all,” finished Fukutaka.

“So there cannot be peace?” Go-Gijo asked them, a near pleading tone coming into his voice.

“Not by the path you so desire my lord Emperor, much to my regret,” replied Fukutaka. As one all the daimyo bowed to the tatami floor. “We are all regretful of that.”

The Emperor sighed. His plan had not worked as well as he had hopped. He did not have the political power, or military power, to compel them to follow his orders; for now he had to wait for one of them to come out on top.

“Very well. It is decided. Do you, Lord Ito, enjoy tea?” asked the Emperor.

“I do my lord,” Ito enthusiastically returned.

“Then all of you are invited to drink tea with me on the East Terrace where we may watch the setting sun and the falling of the cherry blossoms.”

Each of the daimyo bowed, pride swelling on the inside. It was indeed a great honor to drink tea with the Emperor and to enjoy a sun set with him. But the addition of the cherry blossoms was something extraordinary, making each content with momentary happiness and tranquility.

However after the end of the audience, that tranquility would soon be shattered by the sound of war. That Yoshitsune knew well as he came up from the bow and kept his face a mask of pleased contentment. War would come sooner than any of them thought.

The group of mounted samurai thundered out of the gates of Tokai with haste. Attached to their backs were pennants emblazoned with the markings of Clan Moritomo, a flower mon with five petals. Their lacquered-black armor shone in the early sun as the light reflected off their newly polished surfaces. Long, sharp lances were held high in the air. Swords clattered as they rocked to the motion of the riding.

At the head of the samurai group Yoshitsune kicked his horse. With his fifty chosen retainers, the only number allowed by any one daimyo when visiting the Imperial Court, he rode quickly. Of all the daimyo he had the furthest to ride before reaching his fief. An ideal time for a surprise assault by assassins, for rarely was a daimyo of Yoshitsune’s stature ever so unguarded.

After the tea ceremony on the east terrace of the palace, the Emperor had bade them all farewell and disappeared into the recesses of the Forbidden City where none could follow him. The daimyo sat together quietly drinking more tea, Yoshitsune ordering sake brought, and they simply enjoyed the cool breeze and the scenery. All were tense of course, each plotting the downfall of the other. But their faces were tranquil, quiet, and without emotion. All thoughts of tomorrow were left for tomorrow.

Then just after dawn Yoshitsune had bid his friend Kaijin farewell and mounted up.



The two scouts rode over the hill and gazed over at the border between the Imperial Court lands and the lands of their own clan, the Moritomo. They smiled at one another.

“Looks like we made it safe and-.”

With a shrieking whistle a long white fletched arrow buried itself in the scout’s throat. Blood flowed freely and the man gurgled. He fell to the ground, dead before he hit it. The other scout drew his sword and glanced around, fear gnawing at his stomach. Where were they?

“Show yourself cowards!”

In answer ten heavily armed men, wearing vagabond styled clothing, stepped out of the bushes along the road. Four of them had finely crafted bows in hand, arrows notched. Without hesitation the scout raised his sword and charged, screaming a war cry. He made it ten feet before three arrows slammed into his chest and knocked him off his horse.

The “ronin” took possession of the horses and carried the bodies away. Others brought out bamboo brooms and swept the road, clearing away all signs of blood or hoof prints. Their trap was set.



Captain of the Guard Hitsugaiya Todai grumbled in the saddle as he rode next to his liege lord and master. He disliked being so naked in open country, with only fifty warriors at his back and his lord’s safety at risk. It was nearly unbearable. He shifted his grip on the haft of his naginata and glanced at Yoshitsune, then to the road before them. The tall top of Dogen Hill, the sentinel point before reaching the border, was before them. As he gazed at the hill he could not see his scouts.

They should have been there more than a few hours ago. It was their duty to raise the Moritomo banner at the watch tower to send a signal to the Moritomo border garrisons. They also would have been waiting in plain site at the road. Neither of these things was done. Something was wrong.

“My lord.”

“Yes Hitsugaiya-san?”

“I believe there may be something wrong ahead of us. Allow me to take ten men and ride forward. I do not see my scouts and they should be there.”

Yoshitsune looked up at their destination with apprehension as understanding dawned on him. His captain was right. The scouts were missing. “Go.”

“Hya!” Hitsugaiya raised his naginata and motioned for the first phalanx of riders to follow him. They cantered to a fast pace and bypassed Yoshitsune. The other riders formed ranks and prepared to canter with their lord to the aid of Hitsugaiya should he need it.

At the crest of the hill Hitsugaiya called a halt. The samurai glanced around. The watch tower was empty…wait! Hitsugaiya walked his horse over to it and looked closely. A bleeding arm was hanging out of the side. An arrow stuck in the wood of the tower.

“Lookout, it’s a trap!” Hitsugaiya roared.

As if on cue the bandits came screaming from the bushes. Arrows flew and felled a couple of the samurai. Long spears where thrust at the horsemen who fended them off with furious sweeps of their swords.

Hitsugaiya charged, naginata lowered, at the nearest bandit. The would-be assassin raised his sword to meet him. The long blade of the naginata swept aside the sword and with a backward sweep as he rode by cut the man’s head cleanly off. Blood spurted and the headless cadaver fell to the ground pulsing.

One of the mounted samurai jumped of his horse and landed on three bandits. They all fell to the ground in a heap, but the samurai was the first to rise. He drew his blade and cut cleaning into the abdomen of the first bandit who fell screaming. He parried a blow from behind and with a quick thrust, speared the man through the neck. The samurai kicked the body off his sword and ducked, the third bandit’s sword passing dangerously close to his head. The samurai’s sword swept up and the bandit’s sword arm fell to the ground. The man screamed, realizing his arm was cut off. Another slash cut through the man’s face, neck, and chest; ending his suffering.

“Nicely done Saito-san!” called one of the still mounted samurai, fending off a bandit armed with a spear. The rider reared his horse and one of the iron shod hooves caved the bandit’s head in, a look of surprise remaining on the dead face.

“Not bad yourself Kogo!”

Hitsugaiya carved the chest of his last opponent and looked around. “Moritomo!” he cried aloud, the clan’s battle cry.

“Ho!” the remaining six samurai roared exultantly.

Blood, bodies, and body pieces littered the little stretch of road. In all, ten bandits had been dispatched and four samurai had been killed, three by arrows.

Hooves thundered as Yoshitsune came with the rest of the men. Sword drawn for combat the daimyo looked slightly crest fallen as he noticed that battle was over. He came up to Hitsugaiya. “Well done captain.”

“Thank you lord.”

“Clear the road of bodies. Have the bandit’s heads put on pikes to line the road here, a warning to others. Bury our men, but bring back their armor to present to their widows. Find out anything you can about these bandits,” ordered Yoshitsune.

“Yes my lord.” Hitsugaiya bowed. Yoshitsune returned it with a nod of his head and he cantered on past, the remaining guards going with him. Hitsugaiya and his group began shifting the bodies about.



Lord Moritomo Hatomi sat furious on his padded seat. A serving girl with a pretty face served him sake, smiling and softly speaking pleasant words to cool her master’s temper. But Hatomi would not let it. His son had been attacked on the road on his return from meeting the Divine Emperor. It was intolerable.

Hatomi was fifty-seven years old. He’d ruled Moritomo Clan for thirty years before finally retiring from that position and giving command to his son, Yoshitsune, who had just turned twenty-eight. The young daimyo was strong, clever, and quick to think on his feet but Hatomi knew that his son had little patience and was often crass.

He looked to his left out the window. He sat in one of the donjon towers of the castle keep. The sun was near setting time. His son would be home soon. Hatomi turned to the maid.

“See to it that my son arrives to a warm reception and ask him to come see me when it is viable. I wish to speak with him.”

“Yes my lord.”