*Lady Ioshi and Satoru, the beginning
The stallion pushed forward with a fury as it heard the screams and howls that came from the flaming compound. Ioshi rode the beast as it lunged forward, her weight a breath upon the horse's back as the steed hurried towards the mayhem. Her kimono floated around her lithe form like a misty halo, her pale skin and pert, red nipples glistening against the moonlight.
Having fed a few hours ago upon a sorry way-man who thought her a mild courtisan, her senses were flushed with the crackling energy of the night. Her nostrils filled with the acrid smell of spilt blood mingling with moist moss and soil. The cracking of bones and the rendering of flesh and the screams of pain and terror echoed among the snapping of wood girders and crashing of walls.
She slowly guided her dark steed to a halt near the edge of the forest and she cast her ethereal gaze over the devastated compound. Bodies were strewn all over -- swords shone in the fires while held tight in the hands of valiant samurai. Ioshi closed her eyes and listened for the sounds of their killers -- a group of them moved towards the south of the compound, opposite where she waited with her horse.
Ioshi drifted down from her steed, soundlessly landing on the soft ground. Her loose fitting kimono draped her delicately and its color shifted to match the shadows she moved in. The sounds of the slaughter were moving southward as the feeders progressed away from the central compound of the Shogun's manor. She overlooked the charred remains of the old majestic rooftops, plumes of dark smoke hiding the stars even from her devilish eyesight. She was about to steal away on her horse when she was suddenly captivated by a whimper emanating from the rubble.
Like an owl sizing its prey, Ioshi focused of a pile of splintered wood -- it stood away from the fires and she recognized the shape of a broken shed. She caught the faintest reflection of firelight in the white of wild, terrified eyes. Drawn by the faint cries, Ioshi broke from the safety of the forest and slid down the steep hillside, barely disturbing the loose ground and protruding roots. Once on even ground , her kimono changed to a silver and red print that she tightened lest she frighten whoever was buried even more with her ferocious nakedness. She then prudently neared the broken shed, ears ever listening for approaching feeders but her eyes and mind focused on who lied beneath.
Ioshi stood a few moments before the pile of rubble, aware the survivor held breath in anxious expectation. She could hear the rushing blood filled with terror and the speeding heart rate -- it was a child. With a sly smile, she hooked her delicate fingers beneath the heaviest girder and with ease beguiling her slender stature, she heaved and threw the rubble carelessly as a child would kick aside a snapped twig. The shambles crashed loudly some ways away and in its place was the shivering figure of a young boy. His blood smelled sweet.
The boy pulled his eyes away from behind his hands and realized he was exposed. His tunic was torn and blood and dirt filled the various cuts and bruises that covered his arms and legs. Ioshi watched intently as he unfurled his lanky frame -- all the while her ears were alert for any sign that feeders might come back. Though he was bruised and bleeding, he stared at her unflinchingly, his fierce dark eyes full of terror and temper. There was also an air of nobility to him as he stood his ground -- he was of samurai stock, she realized.
"You will kill me?" he asked with a cracking voice. He walked up to Ioshi and stared her boldly in the eyes, though his body obliviously shook. She guessed him to be around 11 years old.
"Not unless you try to kill me, child," she said sweetly. "Now, what is your name?"
"I am Satoru. If you will not kill me I will do it myself..." he said as he started to look around till he finally spotted a loose sword. The blade was splattered with blood turned dark crimson -- its hilt was embroidered with lavish silver detailing showing intertwined dragons that sparkled.
He suddenly ran for it but Ioshi had already blurred past him and held the blade lovingly in her deft hand. She used the other to hold the boy at bay.
"It is a lovely blade," she admired as Satoru pushed vainly against her outstretched arm. "A fine Muramasa ."
"Give it to me!" the boy howled with anger and desperation. "Please! Give it to me..." his voice faltered.
"But you would kill yourself," Ioshi admonished. "Such a precious life as yours should not be wasted."
"Precious?" he whimpered as he fell to his bloodied knees, gripping the hem of her kimono and exposing her toned, slender leg. "I wanted to save him, my brother. Shingen. But they dragged him away and I couldn't pick up his sword. I couldn't save him. I dishonored myself and I dishonored him."
Ioshi offered the boy her hand. Satoru took it and she helped him to his feet while he wiped his runny nose across his forearm. He then looked at her hand in wonder when he realized how cold she was.
"You're too young to worry about honor, child," she whispered as she kneeled and used the cuff of her sleeve to wipe the tears from his cheeks. Satoru watched her nervously though she touched him most gently. "Don't worry -- children are not part of my diet, though their's can be the sweetest blood." She ran her tongue across a growing fang.
He stared at her boldly, his defiance at odds with the fear racking his limbs -- he watched as Ioshi's fangs receded and her lips stretched into a hauntingly warm smile and she then wiped the sweat from his brow with her cuff. "Do not fear me, dear Satoru. Monsters are not always evil, and some of them are even people. I am neither -- I am Lady Ioshi. Come with me and you will taste your revenge against the monsters and understand the meaning of blood."
"You will teach me to be samurai?" he pleaded.
