JoanOfArc 4604 Share Posted August 7, 2020 Musashi of the Fujiwara in the last days of peace, 1774-1775. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Suseko of the Fujiwara laying in the Himawari flowers, 1778. A hundred years waiting Agony of the lonesome Quiet eternal valley. A Daimyō as a father A bitter wretch as a son But at last she came Suseko, my love, my joy The Pale starry light. A raging fire you are above Shining bright and fading fast. The quiet river Separating us for years Can you wait for me? To loathe this eternal life To loathe your finite body. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Musashi of the Fujiwara and Yorihide of the Ishikawa overlooking the Battle of Mutsuhito’s Peak, 1770. Alone we are here In a land in the far west Friendless and ashamed. No peace within the realms of men Tranquility remains not. How far must we go For my heart yearns to see less My peace uprooted. Must I protect my child King When fortunate could have been gained. Honor in service Words spoken from the old sage Why must this be so? Blood and pain for a liege Who would do no same for me? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Self-portrait of Mutsuhiko of the Fujiwara in Bushi garb, 1779. To be raised to war Against the savage Cathant A burden to have. The kami are cruel to Man Never gifting what we crave. Must I fight, Father As you taught me to do so A bloody Crane of War? In my stylus I find peace Not in our ancestral blade. Peace I call for above To write and create I beg Not to kill and ruin. Is peace found through war, father Does my burden lift then, lord? ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ The valley of Kannushi Oshio in eastern Oyashima after spring, 1769. Before there was light, the kami were. They are in all and they made all. When peace has been broken, they mended it. When peace was restored, they broke it. The sun sets, the moon rises. The moon rises, the sun sets. Kami do as they please and mortals bend to their will. Likewise, Eta bend to Bushi, Bushi to the Daimyō, and the Daimyō to the Shōgun, as the kami have intended. The Land of Storms has held to this custom for a millennial. Men who betray the kamis’ will are cast off, Forced to live their lives as servants of their own flesh. But men always betray the kami. Ai-Zho was once ravaged by strife and agony. But balance is always restored. Cathant destroyed the homes of our people, And stole the rights of our samurai and Shogun. But Prince Ishikawa Kais restored us. The True Shōgun vanquishing our eternal enemy. The heavens eternally proclaiming the glory of his name. When moons pass however, Times of old are often forgotten. But to the ancient of Oyashima, Time is nothing more than cyclical. For enemies to our own, Those of that unnamed evil one, Have come from their foul realm of death. With a sky of red and glimmers of villainous souls, They have sought us out. And they have sided with the New Cathant. The False Shōgun and Betrayer of Ai-Zho. Our homeland once again is ravaged.When darkness eclipses the sky however, The light of the kami shines brightest around the darkness. And this light is the true Shōgun that shall deliver us. Ishikawa Yorihide. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Monomakhos 1849 Share Posted August 8, 2020 Each stroke of the brush struck against the mulberry paper. Each stroke was measured. Each to its own meaning. Ishikawa Yorihide sat amidst the zen garden belonging to his relative and retainer, Tomoe. His Sensei, Fujiwara Musashi, had for many years instructed him. Not only in the art of the sword, but of the ink brush. What it meant to be Samurai. To be a samurai, he thought, was to embody the ferocity of a warrior and the kind temperament of a scholar both. It was this that gave rise to the poet-warrior, and it was this that he had been lectured upon so many times. But he was far from home now. Far from what was familiar. From the blossom trees. From the warm kiss of the Oyashiman sun. Though above all, from his father... the boy’s hand trembled in that final stroke, tears choked back as he rose. Had the mind been at ease, he might have found contentment in his work. Yet it was not to be, and so he withdrew to his chambers. To contemplate. And to weep. where has the sun gone— winter rests upon the wind such heavy burden Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
lev 627 Share Posted August 8, 2020 ‘It was such a curious thing’, he thought. The easterner knelt alone under the roof of his kin Tomoe, slowly removing the Menpo that covered his face. ‘To think that all of us that came, have put our faith in a child on the cusp of manhood, he has seen hardship in recent times certainly, but never the cruel throngs of battle, or the bitter whispers of politics.’ He carefully washed the inside of his Menpo, before tenderly applying the daily ointment to his ghoulish features. ‘Yet perhaps in this world away from home, we might make one anew a utopia for the Oyashiman far from Aizhen.’ With that he put back on the face of the oni, standing and going to attend his young kinsman. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
Axelu 4333 Share Posted August 8, 2020 Somewhere, parted from her lord-husband by thrashing seas and time, stood Suseko, longing for the comfort of familiarity and the safety of a past bygone. Link to post Share on other sites More sharing options...
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