The Children of Yomi

[Bloodeye the Bai Ze]

[shadow=red,left,500]The Children of Yomi[/shadow]

Co-written by Lilam and Bloodeye

Act I: The Departed

Japan 1604:

It had been an end of an age.

The Age of the Warring States had come to a close in an abrupt, yet undeniable finish. The Battle of Sekigahara had been a resounding victory for soon to be shogun, Tokugawa Ieyasu. His defeat of those clans that would stand against him and side with the loyalists of the former shogunate propelled him to the highest echelon of power in the country.

With this position secured, Ieyasu ended the time of war. Old warriors hung up their swords. Spears were laid against walls for what, for some, would be the last time. The samurai, who had held positions of power as warriors, now diverted their martial skill to something they had never considered during their time of war: living. Some used their reputations to gain diplomatic or supervisory occupations. Some became teachers in the arts. Some taught the application of the blade, though it would never be like when they had fought. Those few who knew nothing but the battle sought the road as wandering swords.

Everything had changed...

Everything, it seemed, was at peace.

How insipid.

Peace was much like the sun. No matter where it shined, it cannot cover all the Earth in it's light.

Darkness exists. All it needs... is a small... helping... hand...

Off the coast of Satsuma:

The vessel teetered around on the waves like a small float toy in a child's bath. The storm was vicious in it's intent. Sea spray covered the faces of the sailors as they strained to bring the ship into port, the white chalky salt staining their beleaguered faces. Eyebrows were shining pale. Mustaches and beards were stuck in form by the hard saline.

This was a devil storm. Or, perhaps, a God storm. The Devil was harsh, but often cunning enough to appear kind at times. But not God. When God set His Wrath, it was the purest wrath one can ever witness. There was no let up on this sea. No drop of a single gale. It was as if the ocean wanted to swallow up this craft to never allow it to make landfall.

A huffed breath escaped a pair of pursed lips.

A gloved hand traversed the thickly waxed beard stuck to the man's chin. His free hand flipped a page in a small book gingerly.The man was of the time in his life when his hair would start to grey. His evenly combed scalp was speckled with white and shone in the multitude of lamplights that were strung up around him. He hadn't the seeming or the concern to mind at all the consistent bucking of the sea from inside his well lit, warm, and most importantly, dry study. He was engaged in the book similar to how any man of significance would be: with as little of emotion as possible. Only the slight rise of an eyebrow or twitch of the corner of his mouth would signify any kind of response to what he was reading.

Unfortunately, what he was reading had little to no significance to him.

The door to his room burst open with a torrent of water and a charge of wet wind flooded the study. The lamps rocked back and forth angrily at the sudden intrusion of fluid into the environment, shedding light across the face of the once reading man. His eyes appeared sunken in the twisting light, gazing at the crewman who stumbled into his domain.

"Captain! We're nearing the port! The storm is still heavy but the bay is fairly enclosed. As long as we make it in without any kind of incident, we should be safe." the drenched man sputtered as water drained into his mouth from all over his face.

The captain rose a single eyebrow at the man, then looked down at the colorful rug that adorned his floor and ended at the crewman's soggy feet.

"That was a Persian." the captain sighed with slight remorse.

"I... what?" responded the crewman with bewilderment.

"I wonder if I dry it slowly whether it will affect the threads. Can't be too careful with a good rug."

"Sir?... Did you hear anything I said?"

"Of course I did," said the captain, his voice breaking an ever-so slight amount of anger. "I simply don't care. This boat will reach port. I know that already. Come back when it's something important enough to drench a hand-woven floor-piece for."

The captain picked up his book again, only to realize that the crewman was still in his doorway and his rug was still continuing to be soiled.

"You must have it out for Persians or rugs, because you're still here."

"Sir," the wet sailor answered. "I... wanted to ask about our pay."

"Oh... I see."

The book was rested much slower onto the desk this time.

"It's- it's just that we haven't seen hide nor hair of any gold or jewel or anything on this ship."

"You've been snooping where you shouldn't. I'd applaud your gusto if it weren't so stupid."

"You say that, but we hardly got any of what you call "snooping" in. You have the hold locked tighter than a China-woman's bedroom. I want to know what's in it!"

"Colorful metaphors aside, you don't need to know that until we hit port and you all are unloading my cargo from my ship."

He felt it was necessary to give a show of dominance at that moment. Sailors were a notoriously dim-witted bunch. Even so, the rocking of the boat was ceasing and the motion felt notably slower. Obviously, they had reached the bay.

"That's bull!" the sailor blurted. He obviously wasn't understanding the suggestion. "You expect us to believe that you'd hire us to carry a hold that we're not allowed in and not have expectations?! It's gold! Or jewels or both! That's why we're porting in Japan! The Japanese love those kind of things! Bet they got a nice package all ready for you, right?"

There was a drawn out silence between the two men. The captain bore holes into the crewman with his eyes, sizing up this meager man for his outbursts.

"So... if you already knew what was in the hold, why bother asking me about it in the first place?"

"Aha! So it is treasure!"

"I never said that," the captain rebuffed with a shake of his index finger. "I simply asked why you would ask me a question you already seem bound and set on knowing the answer for."

"Because we want our cut!"

"Ah. So... it's that is it."

"Yes! We didn't sail this far to get nothing but shit!"

The ship lurched suddenly and everything lunged forward. From behind the sailor, the sounds of ropes and hooks lashing about, restraining the ship to port could be heard.

"Yes. I suppose you're right. You didn't sail this far not to be justly rewarded."

The captain pulled himself out of his chair in a dignified manner, standing at his full height. He wasn't an overly-sized man, not when compared to the men who so diligently served on his vessel. He did, however, possess a quality of presence that seemed to overwhelm his stature.

He exited his study, the belligerent man following suit. The storm, it seemed, had stopped for the time being, though a fine rain still fell. The captain seemed a little frustated by this. The wet weather would make his silks wrinkle.

"The boarding ramp is down, sir. We have company." said a gangly looking sailor who was missing one too many teeth.

Sure enough, no sooner than the plank had been lowered were there sandaled feet traversing the wooden walk.

Two men ascended to the deck of the ship. Their hakama were soaked through even though they were carrying the odd paper umbrellas that the Westerners had heard about.

"Are you the foreign dignitary?" said one of the Japs. His face was round and creased all over. Some of his wrinkles were from simply age, others were the remnants of old battle scars that had since become crevices in his face. He held himself in a manner that was one part man of influence, and yet another part servant. A kind of cold humility mixed with oppression. "We are retainers for the Shimazu Clan."

"Your Portuguese is... oh... not very good." The captain rebuffed, a twinge a slight glee coming over him. "Perhaps you know Spanish?"

"I do not."

"Oh... well... it was too much to hope I suppose. But I have a little pressing matter to attend to with my crew at the moment. We must get the daimyo's little package all set up and such. You understand, right?"

"Of course. We will wait here."

"Of... course... yes... very good."

With that the Spaniard spun around and motioned to the crewmen on the deck. They all gathered around him as he descended into the bowels of his ship. The stairs creaked with the extra weight of bickering and gossiping sailors, all mumbling about what could be in the hold of the very vessel they had been sailing for so long.

Their captain, a Spaniard who didn't even give them a proper name, had a willowy sense of secrecy. He seemed adept at straying them from the subject in conversation, however this never slipped the thought from their minds. The hold had been built with a heavy door in the floor that had far too many locks on it. They had tried to work on breaking in, but even getting a single bolt to break seemed impossible. Not to mention the large metal brace that was slid over the door. It was an odd piece. It wasn't like anyone on the outside couldn't pull it away. It was the kind of procedure that was meant to keep things in, instead of out.

There was a soft jangle of keys that got everyone's attention.

"Now," the Spaniard said with a flourish. "Everything down there is in fact for all of you."

The looks of confusion soon faltered into grins.

Their captain just smiled back and proceeded to unlock the door, lifting away the locks carefully and sliding the metal bar away. He hoisted the door up and open with little effort, fairly stunning for someone his size to do alone.

"Well? Have at it."

The crewmen poured in, every last one of them. Not a single sailor wanted to miss out on this. They had been raising a certain amount of hype over what was in the hold. Even if it disappointed, at least they'd know.

The Spaniard just kept smiling.

"It's just a little something I picked up in the Amazon. Tomb-raiding and pillaging of sacred sites. They said I was mad for keeping them, but I assure you: they are all quite valuable to certain people." he called into the darkness of the hold after his men.

Thoughts of gold pilfered from ancient temples and native graves made the minds of the sailors swoon. Lamps flickered in and out of the darkness as they hurriedly tried to find anything to pry open the many wooden chests that seemed to litter the ship hold.

A rigging axe was produced from what seemed like thin air and was swiftly plunged into the front of an upstanding box. The hatchet then became a pry bar as splinters of wood were flung all about from the opening of a box.

An eager sailor plunged both arms into a heap of straw that lay inside the container. He shifted his arms around until he suddenly stopped. His face went blank for a moment and he slowly began to withdraw his right arm.

A glisten of gold shined as lamplight hit what appeared to be a golden mask.

There was an awed silence. It was as if none of them had seen the precious metal before and were all mesmerized by it's soft glow.

That silence was suddenly broken as excited cheers echoed into the hold. Every crewman was exulting their find. It was as good, maybe even better than they had hoped. It was every good thing that had ever happened to any of them mounded together into one.

They were so jubilant that it took some time to realize that one of them wasn't actually yelling with joy.

That one man, was, in fact... screaming.

The man who had taken the mask from the box now seemed unable to escape it. He even seemed to be slowly drawn into the crate by some unknown force. A few others had enough presence of mind to snap out of their gold driven high and come to his aid.

They pulled on his shoulders, three of them at once, though whatever had a hold of him was strong enough to match them. Still, they pulled and pulled, their shipmate still screaming. He screamed about the pain, about how something was on his arm.

When there was a final heave, every man present was sure to believe him.

From out of the box, teeth still dug into the softer regions of the forearm, came what appeared something human yet not. It's skin was shodden and falling away. It's lips were curled back from decomposition. It's teeth were bare and sharp against black, rotted gums. Every inch of it that was continually pulled free was slick wet with either blood or decaying flesh that had liquified in the corpse making process. Old feathers and beads stuck to it's slimy form, matted together from what would have been ancient wear of someone of authority in some distant land in some distant time.

The snap of bones gave way to another scream of pain. Suddenly, the poor man's arm couldn't take the tug of war anymore and separated at the elbow. A spray of blood fountained forth all over the beast as it spat the arm away and proceeded with uncertain steps toward something more tender.

The axe that had freed it now was poised to strike, and with deft precision was planted firmly into it's collar. Yet it seemed unfazed, though a bit more agitated.

It pulled the axe out of it's body and used it with a mighty swing to level away the lower jaw of an unfortunate fellow. The monster let out a ungodly sound, something like a roar but also unlike anything any creature could muster.

Every box in the hold began to shake and quiver. Moans and groans could be heard even over the loud screams of sailors as they charged for the door to the hold. They scrambled up the steps to the entrance and slammed against it with might.

It didn't budge.

It was only then that they realized the truth: Not only was the door closed, but the metal bar had been slid back into place.

"Do you like your rewards?"

The Spaniard stood on the door, taking in the sights through the metal bars that lay in the viewport. His fingers twisted against the end of his mustache maniacally.

"YOU BASTARD!!!"

The Spanaird almost seemed glad that the man trying to rip the bars out of the entrance was none other than the man he had been chatting with previously.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE THESE THINGS?!"

"Like I said, just something I picked up in the Amazon. They are remarkable, aren't they? The daimyo was glad to hear I had enough left over from my previous trips. They are highly redeemable of course. That's the best part! No matter how many get killed, filling the ranks is just so easy!"

The man was about to let out another curse at this diabolical Spaniard, but only got out a scream as teeth sank into his back.

"Excellent! I was worried, you see. I had no idea on how to get enough to fill this warlord's order. I had a limited supply. Yes, I can always make more, but getting any volunteers out at sea proved impossible."

The man felt a sudden twinge in his body. The pain subsided for some reason. Their was a kind of racking calm. It didn't feel natural, even if everything he was feeling was beginning to numb.

"And then it occurred to me a few days ago. I'm planning on making a very nice stay here in Japan. I intended to make it a long vacation. I feel I deserve to treat myself after all this work I've put in. So, obviously, if I'm not going to be sailing away any time soon... I won't be needing any of you, now will I?"

The man's eyes began to dim as the blood vessels contracted. His whites were turning to pink and then red as his pupils dilated. he tried to say something, anything, but his mouth seemed unable to form words. He just kept moving his mouth open and shut in vain.

"Now, I have to remind you all: This daimyo is expecting a show. I should expect that none of you will try and disappoint him. So, stiff lips and backs straight! We must be tip-top! Professional, you know?"

The Spaniard crouched down to get close to the grate, his captive audience waning on human thought.

"Oh and for the Love of God..."

He drew his index fingers from the corners of his mouth to the lobes of his ears, his lips curling back to reveal his bright sadistic teeth as his former crew descended into pure darkness.

"Smile."

[Lilam]

Kagoshima City:

She sat on a bed of lilies, clothed only in moonlight. The man at the entranceway hesitated just briefly before stepping fully into the room, his shock somewhat diluted by whispered rumors he had heard about the lovely Chinese courtesan called Yuri. Nothing in his expression betrayed him, but it was troubling that he suddenly found himself wondering if any more of the gossip -besides her proclivity to prance around in the nude- would turn out to be true. Her back, pale and flawless, was all he could make out in the room that had been deprived of a lantern’s light. She did not rise and bow in greeting nor did she offer any actual acknowledgement of his presence. Such insolence was like hot sand pressed in Katashi’s eyes, a rising swell of outraged indignation sending twitches to his sword hand. But knowing she belonged to the Shogun kept him in check. Pride battled honor and his sense of duty would not allow him to bring harm to the Shogun's property, no matter how much of an infuriating little slut she may be.

“Yuri,” he crooned into the shadowed space between them, struggling to keep his irritation internalized. “I have some very important information for the Shogun concerning the Shimazu Clan. It’s big, bigger than Satsuma. Bigger than all of us.”

He shifted weight from his right foot to his left, trying to ease the intangible burden strapped to his back.

“But I can’t trust this kind of thing to just any spy. I know you have direct ties to the Shogun and I need to use your connections. Can I entrust a message to you?”

Katashi expected an immediate response, knowing that Yuri was well aware of the risk he took sneaking about in the middle of the night just to speak to her. Yet she allowed the silence between them to stagnate and grow stale, a delicate hand resting on a beautiful mountain scene painted onto the rice paper of the sliding door.

With powerful strides, the samurai started to cross the room in order to reach the uncooperative woman, determined to shake some humbleness into the uppity whore. Her voice, however, slowed his steps. Yuri was a tiny little thing, possessing a frame with all the structural soundness of eggshells. Yet her voice was soft thunder, far huskier and more bewitching than Katashi would have imagined from such a small woman.

“You can entrust me with whatever you wish, Katashi.”

Still a bit taken aback, the hard lines of Katashi’s face settled into a frown. Somehow he felt as if he was being mocked, but the Shogun’s message came first. He could teach the bitch some manners after she carried out the task at hand.

“Listen and heed me well, Yuri. An unfamiliar boat arrived at the docks today and, strangely enough, two of the Shimazu Clan’s retainers went to welcome the new arrivals. My informants are unclear as to what kind of cargo is on that boat but if Shimazu deemed it important enough to send retainers to personally inspect it, then there’s something big going on.”

A thin sheen of sweat beginning to coat his furrowed brow, Katashi continued, “There’s a good chance that the Shimazu clan got their hands on some foreigner weapons. One of my informants said he thought he heard muffled screams coming from the boat… but he couldn’t confirm it. Either way, this information needs to reach the Shogun’s ears. If they’re planning an assault against the Shogunate, we need to act immediately. We can catch them by surprise if we start mobilizing our men now before they have a chance to take a shot at Edo.”

For the first time since he entered the room, Yuri moved. Slowly, her head turned, seeking his location, the rest of her body swiveling half a pace after. Silhouetted by shadows, she swirled in her pool of flowers, facing him unabashed without even the slightest blush of feminine modesty. Katashi could not stop himself from tracing the outline of her smooth curves, making himself dizzy as all five senses strained for a closer examination. She was a Chinese goddess of fair skin the color of cold marble and an ebon silk veil that spilled over her chest.

While her state of undress had the spy’s mind teetering precariously on the ledge of restraint, it was Yuri’s eyes that kept the lustful beast within firmly reined. Endlessly black, unwavering doll’s eyes that mirrored everything in its reflection except herself. Rising, she uncoiled and unfurled herself in a serpent’s dance, drawing a long sleeved kimono from the carpet of flowers and pulling it up to her elbows but no further.

“Are you not well, Katashi? You’re sweating and your chest is heaving. Would you like to sit down, perhaps?” Yuri asked in that dark velvet voice that sent convulsive shudders down Katashi’s back.

Swallowing a mouthful of sandpaper, Katashi cleared his throat obnoxiously loud. “No, I’m fine. It’s just, uh, a little warm in here,” he rasped as he vainly tried to coax his rebellious eyes in any direction other than Yuri’s disrobed form.

Yuri took a moment to reach down and scoop up an armful of lilies before replying, nonchalant, “Is it? I haven’t noticed.”

Flowers pressed close to her bosom, she looked up and smiled. Although Katashi was the one fully clothed and Yuri was not, he shivered despite himself.

“Would you consider yourself a strong man, Katashi?”

The woman took one step forward, a genuinely curious expression pinned on Katashi. Once again taken off guard, the man stammered, “I-I would, yes I suppose.”

She took two steps closer.

“Are you married, Katashi?”

He licked his lips nervously, tasting sweat and the liquefying of his resolve.

“Yes, I am. Married with three sons and four daughters.”

Yuri glided towards him, her kimono leaving a white trail of flowers in her wake. Heart throbbing so hard and fast it was practically vibrating, Katashi kept his muscles stiff and locked in place, afraid that should he move his self-control would be forfeited. The doe eyed temptress suddenly stopped a few feet in front of him and pouted painted red lips in a look of keen interest.

“Do you want me, Katashi?”

Staring at the pale saint who only seemed to preach sins, Katashi breathed in deep of the sickeningly sweet scent of lilies that made his mind fuzzy and numb, whispering in a throaty rumble, “Yes.”

Yuri smiled, sweet and dark. “Very well. Here I come.”

Katashi saw everything in black and white; ivory skin moving against a backdrop of shadows. A spinning flurry of white lilies and the black eyes of a demon. And then, only red. Trembling hands scrambled to dam the blood leaking from wide open gashes in his throat and right side, bloated eyes fixed on the double axes revealed from the folds of Yuri’s now discarded kimono.

“Perhaps you’d like to sit down now?” she purred over the man’s gurgling screams. Katashi collapsed in a heap of violent spasms and Yuri crouched beside him, mindful of his flailing limbs.

“Filthy Japanese beast. It sickens me to know that our faces are so similar and even more so that we bleed the same color. You and your kind have taken everything from me: my husband, my children and my freedom. You’re demons who bring nothing but misery and destruction into this world. But I’ve long since realized that in order to kill a demon, you must become one. And while you sadistic bastards are oh so good at hiding behind a human mask, I’m better at it and even more deadly when I choose to reveal my true nature. Your impending death is proof of that.”

Yuri brought one of the bloodied axes close and studied it without interest.

“Thank you for bringing me such useful information, Katashi. However, I will not be honoring your request. The Demon King you call Shogun will die and you will all wipe yourselves out in the ensuing chaos. This, I swear. The day the Shogun dies is the day Japan burns and it will be my hands that drag his screaming soul to hell.”

Gazing into eyes already clouding over with death, Yuri’s smile stretched until it was taunt across her beautiful face. “I’ll send your beloved Ieyasu to you, so wait for him, Katashi. He’ll be joining you soon.”

And, in one swift motion, she buried the axe right between his eyes, splitting his skull. Yuri was well aware that it was cruel and pointless, but that did little to make it any less gratifying. Slender, well toned arms retrieved the weapon after several forceful jerks, the bloodstained woman then resigning herself to an unhurried pace around the room. If there was someone in Satsuma who was just as intent on taking down the Shogunate as she was, then she had to meet them. She had access to the Shogun’s most trusted men and whoever the Shimazu retainers had met on this strange boat might have the means to make Edo nothing but a graveyard of ruins. It was a pairing destined to happen; the sooner, the better. While she was accustomed to men seeking her out, it was a whole new game to have to search for this mysterious captain. In a way, she liked the novelty of this challenge.

“Very well then,” Yuri grinned, spinning gracefully in a whirling dance of flowers and blades. “Here I come.”

[Bloodeye the Bai Ze]

Three weeks later:

Sandaled feet plodded on the hard dirt road with exhausted pressure. They had been traveling since this time the day prior, even daring to risk traveling at night. The band of mud-ridden men fumbled over the rugged road, tripping here and there in the ruts made by wagons that had hurriedly rolled through the rain-soaked path the night before. The summer sun had hardened it back in no time, leaving the indentations marked in the roadway for everyone to see, or in the case of these travelers, to not see.

The sounds of everyday life rippled through the wooden walls of the various buildings as they entered the town. Carpenters banged and sawed at heavy wooden beams as they neared completing the framework for a new theatre, a gift from the local lord in hopes of gaining favor with some of the more distant members of his domain. The sharp crack and thunk of an axe striking a log as the inn keeper's son chopped wood for the stoves to burn for the midday meal.

The ideal setting brought an overpowering warm relief to the group of beleaguered travelers. Two of them dropped to their knees silently, both exhaustion and stress leaving their shoulders for at least the time being.

"Do you... do you think that we'll find anyone here?" wheezed one of the men, still standing by only a hair. He was old. Probably too old to have gone on this long trip by foot. His arthritic slouch and teetering steps that could only be supported by a long bamboo stick were obvious signs of such. However, he, like those that were with him, was one of the few that were brave enough to go out on this journey.

Not with what they had seen. Not what with what was going on in their small village.

"This is the nearest town of any good size from us. That road seems a lot shorter when you ride a wagon in though." said one of the men on the ground.

"No time for dwelling. We got to find some strong warriors before it's too late!" exclaimed the other who was trying to catch his breath.

"Easy now, Toru," the old man said with an easy melody, though still out of breath a bit. "The others have walled off the village enough. Most have boarded up their houses and some have taken to the boats for protection. While we should make haste, we also want to be sure we find exactly what we're looking for. Samurai who fled the field in cowardice or are simply weaklings will not do us any good."

"Yes, you saw what those things did." added the fourth man, a large man of a quiet demeanor.

"Exactly! We shouldn't have left in the first place! We should have killed them!"

"With what? Our hoes? Sticks?"

"With anything! Bamboo spears! Rocks! What about-?!"

"Ssh!... There are samurai here, you fool! If they hear about that, all of our heads will be at stake!"

"Enough!" the old man hollered, bringing the argument to a quick end. "They won't have a choice once they get there, so it doesn't matter!"

He then turned to the large man. "Shin, please find us a place to stay. I have a feeling we may be a few days."

The ox of a man nodded and went off from the others in silence.

"A few days?! But... but...!"

"I said enough! Our friends and family are tough. You know this. So give them the dignity of your trust as they have done for you. Use the time you're spending on arguing on finding us trustworthy samurai."

Toru grimaced at being treated like a child when he was clearly a man in his late thirties. However, the old man had authority in not only his wisdom, but in his years of experience. He was the man to turn to when crops failed or flooding occurred. He was the voice of reason amongst bickering neighbors.

"As you say, Gramps, he responded with an insolent tone.

"Good," answered the elder traveler, leaning on his stick as he turned to the remaining man. "Shiro, you do most of the trading anymore. You said you've seen samurai here, right?"

"Yes... though you just said you knew-"

"I know what I said. Just... you were right, weren't you?"

"Yes. The last couple of trips to this town, I've been noticing an increase in samurai here. I'm not sure why. It's a good town, but it's hardly the place to find decent work for a swordsman," Shiro said. He placed his hand to his chin and stroked his small waft of beard thoughtfully. "The local gambling house would be interested in some bodyguards, but not as many as have been coming into town. Any other local jobs would be beneath anyone of stature. Though... the local lord might have sent them this way to check on the quality of the homes and businesses. How much trade comes through. Could even be sent by the Shogunate for such things, but they'd never admit to it openly. Maybe it's-"

"Shiro," the old man interrupted with a chuckle. "We don't need to know why they are here. All we need to know is where they will be."

Oh... right," Shiro stammered. He was always the kind of man that over explained everything and tried to think things through way too much. In essence, he was a smart man, but too smart for his own good. "Well, the gambling house I said. But, most of those there are already bodyguards. We wouldn't have anything to give them to get out of that job. Especially not to risk their lives. Any samurai that was actually gambling wouldn't be that trustworthy. Probably poor, like we need, but certainly not trustworthy. There's a brothel off to the other side of town. Same instance there. No one of honor, I think. The inn would be our best bet. An honest samurai would probably spend his days in there. Good food and sake would beat out loose women and the chance for big money to a good-natured person. The theatre would have retainers inspecting the construction, but they probably aren't very good at fighting and-"

"Shiro."

The old man's hand was caressing the bridge of his nose as he shook his head.

"Oh... sorry. The inn. Best place. I'm sure of it."

"Fine. We'll start there. We'll probably run into Shin there as well."

The three men had regained their endurance by then and started to make their way towards the inn. Shiro spared no time as they walked to give them a rather lengthy discussion of the town as he had heard it from the locals. Who was who and what was what. Neither Toru or the old man were to eager to hear it, so they focused on the banner hanging out in front of the inn and tried their best to block the chatterbox out.

Once they had reached the entrance, they were greeted by a permanently wall-like Shin, who's large body seemed to take up the entire doorway as the cloth covering splayed over his big shoulders.

"No rooms," he murmured.

"Great. Now where will we sleep?" Toru groaned.

"The boss said we could use the stables. No horses." answered Shin.

"We'll have to thank the innkeeper for his hospitality," said the old man.

"What?! How is making us sleep in horse shit "hospitality"?!" Toru ranted back.

"We aren't here for luxury, Toru! Stop acting like a brat! We don't have much money. We'd hardly have enough to buy a room for a night, let alone several nights."

"That's not including food and drink, extra clothing if we need it... not to mention the supplies that we need back home. The samurai might need expenses too, depending on how poor they are. Weapons, armor, rations..."

Shiro continued on while counting on his fingers of the number of expenses need. He was thoroughly ignored.

The old man entered the inn. It was a modest place, but bustling now that it had hit close to midday. It was all wood, built well and strong. It smelled of cooking pots and roasting chicken on a charcoal grill. The innkeeper made sure to keep the charcoal chicken grill out where everyone could see and, most importantly, smell the crisping skin.

He eyed a man seated at the counter. He was toying through a bowl of noodles impatiently with his chopsticks. He wasn't dressed very lavishly. Rather plainly in fact. He wore no mark of a lord on his clothing, so he must have been without a master at the moment. He did possess a pair of swords however. That was important. The fact that the sheathes were as plain as their owner and somewhat beaten also meant that he knew how to use his blades.

"Try him," the old man said with a point of his cane.

"He looks good. Not too rich, not too poor in appearance. Ju- *cough*"

Shiro caught himself just before he went off on another tirade.

"Yeah, I guess," Toru said. "But who does the talking? You, Gramps?"

"No. I'm afraid I'm too old and easy-going to get across our situation."

"Me?" Shin asked, pointing to himself.

"No, my friend. You don't talk enough."

"I'm sure I could relay-"

"You talk too much, Shiro."

"So what?! Me?!" Toru exclaimed, not caring that the table nearest to the entrance was a little annoyed by his loud outburst.

"You have urgency to your voice. It's been irritating to us, but it suits getting the samurai's attention. Now go on."

The old man prodded Toru in the lower back with his bamboo stick, edging the peasant into walking up to the samurai.

Toru came up behind the armed man, not sure where to begin. He tried to go through the conversation in his head, but none of it ended well.

"Where's my sake?" the samurai grumbled in front of him.

Toru decided that he'd just have to take the chance and roll with anything the samurai asked of him. They weren't in any position now to be picky.

"I'm sorry, sir?" Toru asked as he came up to the left side of the samurai. "Can I have a minute of your time?"

The samurai was quiet, then turned to him with shallow eyes. He was a bit disheveled looking with his ill-trimmed beard, but it was his look of complete disinterest that made Toru second guess talking to him.

"Sure. Why not? I can spare a few minutes. I've been waiting for my sake for half an hour now."

"Yes... well... we," Toru stammered.

He suddenly hit his knees, bowing before the samurai. "We need your help sir!"

"My help?" the samurai asked as he leaned away from the peasant awkwardly.

"Yes! Our village is under attack! We need strong warriors!"

"I'm not that strong, but that depends on what I'll be fighting. Bandits? Another village? Samurai?"

"Demons, sir!"

"De-," the samurai stopped in the middle of saying the word and abruptly burst into laughter. "HA! Go find a priest if demons are your problem!"

The samurai continued laughing until Toru's solemn voice answered him.

"We have a priest. He can do nothing."

The laughter subsided and the samurai realized that now the whole inn was looking at them. He felt both embarrassed and angry at that point. He didn't need this kind of attention.

"Please sir! We need a good sword! We'll pay you!"

That offer made the samurai smile from ear to ear. He hadn't had a paying job in a long time.

"Pay?! Now that's more like it! How much are we looking at? Will you pay me by the day or by the head?"

Toru tried to get his words out. This was the part they had all dreaded when they realized they needed to hire fighters.

"We offer a roof over your head... food and drink..."

"And?" The samurai's smile faded into a frown.

"That's... that's all we have sir!"

A foot caught Toru right in the face. He splayed out on the floor of the inn from the kick.

"Filthy peasant! Do I look so pathetic that I'd accept something like that? Do I?! I'm no beggar! You speak nonsense about demons, but that doesn't mean I'll go after a threat for nothing but my own good intentions!"

The samurai drew his sword out. Shin moved to help Toru. He was a good man to have in a fight, but the old man's stick stopped him. He knew that the samurai had taken offense at the request and he saw fit to take Toru's head for it.

That was the honor of the samurai.

Most of the people in the inn had fled, not wanting to witness the horrible scene that was about to take place.

The samurai lifted the sword over his head. "You disrespect me in public?! You'll die for that!"

Just as the samurai's arm began to motion into the final cut, another hand reached out and grabbed his sword arm firmly.

"Is that really necessary?"

The samurai wheeled around to look whoever it was in the eyes before cutting off their head. He stopped once his eyes made contact with the one.

The man that had hold of his arm wasn't large. He was built for a man his size, but not dominating. No, it wasn't his build that made the swordsman pause. It was his one eye. His left eye was covered by a black eyepatch, and by the sight of the rather large vertical scar that ran down from his forehead, brow and down his cheek, one could see why. His other eye was fixed and intense. It was the kind of glare one received from a stern commander on the field.

"Wh-who are you?" the samurai asked, freeing his hand away from the other man.

"I'm the server."

A wooden plate was set on the counter. In it was an upright bottle of warmed sake and a small clay cup.

"Sorry for the wait."

The samurai looked at the man, then down at the sake, back at the man and once again down at the sake.

"You're... the waiter?"

"Yeah. I am."

There was an awkward silence in the inn. No one dared to make a peep. Toru didn't even try to make a move away from the man that would have killed him. If he tried, he might gain the samurai's attention once more and get cut anyway.

"Where the hell have you been?!" the samurai blurted, seating himself once again as he grabbed his sake and cup. "I've been waiting forever!"

"I know. I'm sorry about that," the patched man replied.

Toru took the distraction and crawled hurriedly back to his friends.

"Hey wait... doesn't the owner have a pretty daughter that serves the drinks?" the samurai asked, forgetting all about the petulant villager that had insulted him.

"She's not feeling well today. I was asked to take her place."

"So... you aren't the waiter after all?"

"No. I'm the cook."

The samurai grabbed his bowl of noodles and shoved it in the other man's face.

"Did you make these?"

"No. As I said, I've been serving. The owner's wife took over the cooking."

"Well get that bitch out of the kitchen!" the samurai hollered, throwing the bowl of noodles on the floor. "Her cooking is terrible! I've come here before and the food is good! Today it's shit! Total shit!"

The scarred man sighed with irritation.

"It wasn't my call to make. I just work here."

"Well get back there and do your damn job! She can't screw up getting drinks anymore than you have, but she can sure screw up a bowl of simple noodles!"

By this time the innkeeper had stepped out from the back. "Takeshi! Is something wrong?!"

"No sir. I'm just dealing with a customer."

"Well do as he asks! I don't pay you to dawdle around out here! Get back to work!"

Now with two people yelling at him, Takeshi decided it was best to just do as told. However, before he turned to go back to the kitchen, he looked over at the group of villagers. He nodded at the old man.

The old villager couldn't quite make out what had just happened, but the nod from the cook was enough to let him know things would be alright now. The group dusted Toru off and left the inn quietly. Toru would need time to rest from his encounter, plus they needed time to think about their next steps.

Takeshi watched the peasants leave and made his way toward the back once again.

"Hey!" interrupted the samurai. "You have strong hands. Were you a samurai?"

Takeshi stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

"I was... once."

The samurai chuckled a bit before taking a sip of his sake. "Couldn't handle being a soldier, could ya?"

Takeshi disappeared into the kitchen, the words "You have no idea" still fresh on his lips.