(L5R - The Spoils of War) Chudan-no-Kamae: Kakita Hayabusa's Story

[truemane]

CHUDAN-NO-KAMAE: THE STEEL GATE
KAKITA HAYABUSA'S STORY

"Chudan places one foot behind the other, hips forward,
spine relaxed, balance centred. The katana is brought forward,
guarding the heart and throat."

Later in life, Kakita Hayabusa would have to remind himself that he wasn't there that day. And every time it was so strange to him that he was not. He could see it, see it so clearly. Even decades later, as the silted river of time had worn away his most precious memories to fragments and covered them all with the patina of years, this one stood out, sharp and bright and vibrant.

He could see the tent in the far corner of the grounds. Not the one his brother found, the other one, the one with the bright colours and the little flags that flapped in the wind. The one that was guarded at all times and that he and his brother were forbidden to enter alone. He could see his brother's smiling face and tussled hair. He could even see the frayed collar of his kimono and the remains of the black eye he'd gotten falling from a sakura tree the previous week.

And he also could see the shed. Across the grounds. Just outside the armoury. Hidden behind barrels and boxes of groundskeeping equipment. The small stone shed with the stout iron door. It was he, Hayabusa, who had first mentioned the shed to Shingen.

"Why would there be rakes and cutters outside the armoury?" he had said when he noticed it. "And why would they build a gardening shed away from the heimin's area? And out of stone?" And Shingen was not surprised. Hayabusa often noted things no one else did. He was blessed by the air kami and would someday be a legendary duelist. But in the meantime his sharp eye and quick mind were the perfect launching pads for a young boy with more energy than sense.

But the tent. His mother's tent. The large tent where she kept the supplies she used to create the Gaijin pepper she used to make fireworks for festivals. Her knowledge was slightly scandalous. There were whispers she had a Gaijin lover. Or Gaijin ancestors. Or that she once saved a traveling merchant from death. But no one complained or whispered when samurai came from all over on festival days to watch the fruits of her slightly dishonourable labours. And then, one winter, when the Emperor himself came to see, the whispers stopped.

Mostly.

But the tent. She had forbidden them to enter the tent. Forbidden it with a vehemence so at odds with her normally off-hand manner, that they never disobeyed. And the tent remained, in Hayabusa's memory , a brightly coloured mystery at the edge of his vision, forever swaying in the breeze from the plains.

The shed, however, was another matter. Shingen managed to find a way in. Past the guards. Took a peek. And he told Hayabusa, short of breath, his eyes afire with excitement: "Fireworks! More fireworks! Stacks and stacks of them!"

"What matter? We aren't allowed to look at them. You know what mother said."

"Yes, I know," he said, his voice the quiet conspiratorial tone of someone who has discovered a great truth, "And what she forbade was going into her tent alone. No mention of a shed anywhere."

Hayabusa was not a stupid child and knew a deliberate evasion when he heard one. But, then, he also knew a great excuse to (maybe) manage a good, long look at his mother's art when he heard one. So he agreed. He would accompany his brother to go see. Shingen had a plan. A good plan. To distract the guards and sneak in. Hayabusa would hold the door open and they would look as long as they liked.

But then, the day before the plan, Hayabusa had been running along the walls and a sudden wind had knocked him off-balance and he had fallen 100 feet to the stones below. But not to his death. He didn't remember (and how bitter that he could not remember this, when he had been present, but his brother's flaming explosive death? Where he was not? That should be emblazoned in his memory?), but on-lookers said his fall was arrested as by the winds themselves and he landed with enough force to knock him unconscious, and break both his legs. But he did not die.

And so he was in bed reading about the travels and duels and adventures of Kakita Hojo when he heard the explosion and saw the plume of black smoke rising to the air.

Shingen had gone ahead with the plan. And possibly brought a torch to see by, since his partner was not there to hold the door.

His mother discovered that her secrets had been secretly being used to construct devices of war. And she discovered that it was her own husband who had ordered it done.

His father left. Hayabusa saw him a handful times thereafter.

His mother became silent and pale and stony-faced. She no longer laughed. Or made jokes at the courtiers expense. She no longer sat to watch the samurai practice or the iaijutsu tournaments. Nor did she attend the inspections of the soldiers.

There were no more fireworks.

There was only silence.

And Hayabusa filled that silence with the stories and myths and legends of the great Crane duelists of the past: of justice and honour delivered at the edge of a katana. Every time he closed the book he looked up into a world that he no longer understood and in which he seemingly no longer was welcome. But every time he opened the book he was home. And so he read and read, knowing the only thing that mattered: one day soon he would leave this cold gray place and find his way to the Kakita Academy. And from there, to his own legends.

Which was why the breakfast with his mother than fall, where she summoned him and say him down and fed him and gave him tea. And then, flat-faced and with leaden tones, laid down a piece of paper and told him:

"Your guarantee of entry to the Kakita Academy came today. I have drafted a refusal to be sent this very evening. No son of mine will hold the katana. I am burning your books even as we speak. This family will produce no butchers."

Spoiler

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Welcome to your Prologue! So, as I explained in the Chargen thread, what I want you to is complete the scene. You can invent, write, create, do anything you want. Shift places, times, locations. Speak for any other character you wish. All of this has 'already' happened in the world of the game so there are no roles and nothing you try will fail.

So how does Hayabusa react to having his dreams taken from him? What does he say? What does he do? You and I know he eventually made it into the academy, but this Hayabusa doesn't. So how does he overcome his mother's refusal on his behalf? And how does their relationship change as a result?

Questions? You know where I am.

[Darkstorm]

He fell… He didn’t die. And because of it, his brother died.
The world seemed a different place now. Not that the colors were brighter or softer, or the taste of things differed from before. No, not that. But things were different since then.

The bamboo is still bamboo he repeatedly says, almost as a mantra of life. Of the unchanging world he lived in. Of becoming what one was meant to be.
Bamboo might sprout, grow in a thousand directions, die, but in the end was still what it was.

Since that day, when the wind had struck his feet and made him trip he felt in a constant turmoil.
As if something heavy hanged over him. A sense of destiny, a sense of fate, a sense that he had cheated death, and somehow it would reclaim him sooner or later.

This “foolish talk” like his mother told him was from “not dealing with what happened to Shingen and reading all those full of lies scrolls”.

He was sad. He was angry. He was devastated. But this ominous feeling wasn’t because of it. This was real. He knew it.

And then his mother’s words strike “…I have drafted a refusal to be sent this very evening…”

“But Mother.” Says Hayabusa quickly, without thinking. Then he stops. This was not the way with her. “Mother I won’t be a butcher. I will use the sword to protect the realm. To protect you and all that live here in these lands.”

“The sword only plows lives.”

“I will be a bushi even if you don’t approve. I will become…”

Her reaction was quick as a rattlesnake, hand flashing through the air, with mastery striking his face.
His mother never had beaten him. Sure she had promised it several times. But never actually hit…

“Mother” Hayabusa said as shocked grabbed his red face.

In a low menacing tone she says “I won’t say this again. You will be what you are supposed to be. Like your brother and me. You won’t even…”

Hayabusa was angry before, but now he was raging in shock. Among that internal confusion death came. He felt it around him, caressing his skin, filling his lungs. Making him trip. He fell, slowly, inside a darkness well and each second (minute? Hour? Millennium?) that passed the shadows grew, started to gain weight, to move, to Whisper. Voices. Voices in the wind. There was nothing, there was void.

------
Ayumi struck.

She never had done it. She was ashamed before it happened, but she couldn’t let another one go. She would protect what was left of her heart. Of her family. What was shame besides pain?
The shocked, hurt image of little Hayabusa looking at her was nothing compared to what she would feel if he got lost…

He was about to say something she thought, but from his mouth no sound came. He paled – his skin turning whiter and his lips dry. His muscles twitched and he fell on the ground like a piece of wood. And as the Thud came, he started to shake. Violently. Mouth foaming, eyes twitching.

“Hayabusa!”

------
To Kakita Renshi the rage in his mother was palpable as she discussed quietly, again, with Hayabusa.
The shugenja had left the compound not two days ago, but the news he left were still heavy in the household.

Hayabusa problem was not curable. He couldn’t explain it very well, but this thing happened to the ones that were a channel for divine influences. And he said something about the Air Kami being favorable to Hayabusa. That he never saw them as interested with a mortal as with him.

His attention grasped with the conversation as the underlying tone got darker.

“… As I said before, you won’t be attending the Kakita dueling academy. I’ve sent the letter to the Artisan school so you can follow Renshi there. You will continue to make this family name great.” She said looking her son in the eyes.

“Mother, I am sorry, but I will not do as you say.” He adds sadly.

“Shush child. It is done. You can accept it or not, but all is taken care off. One day you will thank me.”
“Asashina-san” the shugenja “said that this problem would benefit from the focus and techniques gained in the Dueling school.” He explains softly, almost ashamed.

“Nonsense. An artisan has a tougher regimen than a butcher” she says loud.

“Asashina-san also pointed that the this connection could benefit the clan, and the ways of the bushi. That I could end up being one of the great.” He continues

His mother looks at Reshi almost pleading for help “You will be one of the great. Artists.”

Unmoving Hayabusa continues “I’ve requested Asashina –san to deliver a letter for me to the masters of the academy where my elemental situation is explained, and my desire to be part of the school’s tradition.”

“No son of mine will pick the sword” she almost screams.

“I will.” Hayabusa adds with a small tear running down his face.

“So from this day forward I am not your mother anymore. I won’t be responsible for the destruction of your soul.”

[truemane]

"Chudan is the beginning. The stance from which all others rise. It is the Stance of Water: flowing into many forms, fitting any frame, always returning to the most stable point."

The Kakita Academy was a very strange place. Hayabua wasn't sure he knew what he had been expecting, but the reality of the place was somehow a lot bigger, and a lot smaller, than he had imagined. He supposed he had been picturing some sort of legendary, mist-shrouded training ground where heroes strode the walkways and every now and then some beleaguered peasant would run up and beg to be freed from oppressive something or other.

But the reality of the place was that it was a busy, busy workshop that trundled on night and day, taking in bored callow youths and churning out skilled duelists. His mother, the great artisan, would not have felt out of place here.

It was a strict meritocracy, with social status and privilege handed to those who could draw the fastest, strike the cleanest, see the farthest, hold the longest. But it was also filled with Cranes: men and women raised on the milk of public discourse and social combat as well as physical and so around the corners of the training yards and dueling grounds, a second meritocracy of words and barbs thrived among the students.

Hayabusa held a a high place in the former, and was smart enough to keep out of the latter.

But the samurai who excelled at both was Daoji Inara. She was on pace to graduate a full 18 months early. The cut of her laughter was as sharp as her sword and the speed of her wit was as fast. She placed first in every competition. She topped every list. Everywhere she went she was greeted with smiles and blushes and averted eyes.

Hayabusa wasn't even supposed to be in the kitchens that late, but he often had trouble sleeping. Especially before important tournaments. Whenever he knew his skills would be put to a great test, that was when his mother came to him the clearest, calling him a butcher and a traitor. So he often walked the grounds. And sometimes he made his way to the kitchens to have some tea in the quiet.

And so, as he entered the darkened room, he was surprised to find someone picking their way out among the shadows. And not just anyone: Inara.

Perhaps it was the arrogance of youth, perhaps it was the favour of the air kami, perhaps it was just arrogance, but Hayabusa never doubted what he saw, even though it was only for a moment, in the dark from the corner of his eye. He also never doubted that he saw a small glass vial in her hand, and he saw her tuck it into her sleeve as she walked out to the gardens.

Just as, the next day, as Inara defeated her most skilled rival for the top of the list, Hayabusa never doubted that he saw shadows of discomfort the young man's eyes. And he saw sluggishness in his limbs. And more than once he saw his hand go to his stomach, as though pain bloomed there.

The young man's name was Aki. And he was one of only three students in the school who partook of meat. Chicken, in this case. Hayabusa'a gaze flickered to the other two students and, once again, he never doubted the shadows of pain he saw in those faces.

Inara was named the winner and earned the top spot in that week's lists and the duelmaster's praise.

She was cheating.

No one would believe him.

He had no proof.

The only way to prove it would be to duel her.

But she was far, far, far more skilled than himself.

Dishonour.

Defeat.

Hayabusa's eyes narrowed in rage at the thought of this most sacred ritual being profaned in this manner. And at the fact that he might not be able to do anything about it.

Spoiler

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So what does Hayabusa do? Does he put it all on the line for moral principle even though he's pretty sure he'll lose? Or find another way? Or just let it go? Either way, he should feel pretty strongly about the whole thing, and his view on the romantic power of dueling should be addressed in the face of the sometimes sordid world of people who will do anything to win.

Show us what he does, and how he feels about it.

As always, questions, you know where I am.