A/N: This story contains killing, sadness, and a lot of other terrible things. Although I'm sounding very offhand, please don't take it lightly; you've been warned.
Second- this is alternate history. I would love to hear about how samurai did and did not behave or who Minamoto was in real life- but not here. Please, just throw all that out of the window.
Third, this is more of a story that has sex in it than sex with a story around it. Though I can't promise how much sex would be present, either. So this is another warning.
Finally, all the characters are above 18, unless otherwise specified.
Now that three quarters of you have left, let's start the story.
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1480 AD, Feudal Japan, Ise prefecture.
The air was still. The ominous trill of the cicadas filled the valley, fooled into song by the light from the fire that had consumed the town. The flames had died, doused by the soldiers upon their superior's orders. Smoke rose from the charred skeletons of the houses, disappearing into the inky void of the night sky.
Some of the people who had lived there managed to flee; the rest were were dead or in chains. It was time for plunder. The little town contained much more bounty than they had expected. All in all, it was an excellent mission, beautifully executed- who said there was no glory in war? Probably some pussy, thought Field Marshall Okubo Ruyshiro ,lounging with his feet snugly under the kotatsu. He felt tired, yet oddly satisfied, as he watched his generals argue on how to divide up their winnings.
"Now now," said Lieutenant Minamoto calmly, rising from his seated position. "Kami have blessed our expedition with plentiful fortune, and there is more than enough here for us even after we have given our tribute to our High Commander Mitsutaka-sama. Verily, this is proof that the heavens see Mitsutaka-sama fit as the next Shogun." Minamoto bowed his head slightly towards the field marshal. "Doesn't it seem so, Okubo-dono?"
Okubo looked at Minamoto through weary eyes. Slim, pale, and tall, Minamoto reminded him of a snake rearing up, swaying hypnotically in a field of grass; he looked even more so in his brown and green battle armor, which glinted like scales in the dim lamplight.
But he wisely dips his words in honey before uttering them,
thought Okubo.
I should get little Chiyo married to this one as soon as this is over.
"Of course, Minamoto-san," he replied. "I honestly did not expect this merchant to have so much stashed away. Your idea is commendable."
Minamoto bowed at him, then sat down, reaching for the teapot on the middle of the table. Yet, a whisper rose among his men.
"Okubo-taicho, are you saying this man was not of military nor noble rank?" asked Takeshi, one of the younger lieutenants.
"Ah, not by blood or imperial conferment " replied Okubo, pulling out his legs from under the table. "They were originally a merchant family, and rose up steadily, buying and renting out lands, hiring ronin..."
"Hah! It shows in their manners," commented General Taadaki suddenly.
Taadaki Saburo was an old comrade of his, and they had seen through many battles together. Although age had cooled down Okubo's blood considerably, it did not seem to have had the same effect on his friend.
Taadaki stood and placed his katana on the table, and Okubo, much to his distaste, noted that his blade was still tinged maroon with congealed blood. Taadaki noticed Okubo's expression, and laughed.
"Ruyshiro-san, my blade wears its work with honor," said Taadaki, turning his sword this way and that. "Unlike the
karo
she executed- really, you should have seen how he was begging and crying before she silenced his pathetic tongue!"
The men laughed, some raucously, some cautiously. Okubo smiled at his friend's words."Saburo-san, you forget his son though. He gave you a little trouble, didn't he?" reminded Okubo.
Taadaki's face fell slightly, but he shrugged it off. "Yes, but of course, he wasn't so much skill as he was aimless energy. That was a waste, I will admit," added Taadaki in a lower voice, as he put his sword down beside him. "If this wasn't war I'd have gladly taken the boy under my care as my apprentice."
"I know, my friend," replied Okubo. "But Mitsutaka-sama's orders were explicit. No member of the family was to survive. He wanted to set an example; that none who defy him would live."
"Mitstutaka- sama wanted this land for its strategic position as well," added Minamoto. Now, with this simple victory, our enemies' trade lines will suffer. All we shall do is wait and watch them rot slowly."
"It is a shame about the massacre though," said Takeshi. "The daimyo was asking for his samurai's families to be spared before he died."
"How many children did he have?" asked Okubo out of curiosity. Out of the corner, he saw Taadaki rolling his eyes. He himself knew better than to start feeling sentimental, but he had children as well...
"Three sons, two who died fighting. Other was a child, barely able to walk. And two daughters, both quite young," supplied Takeshi automatically, as Taadaki turned to face him angrily for speaking out of turn again. "But we took care of them," he trailed off, finally noticing his superior's glare. Okubo sighed deeply, and everyone grew quiet.
"Such is life!" said Taadaki, banging a fist on the table suddenly, rattling the teacups. "Who among us have not seen their family and friends die? Your own father was beheaded in front of our eyes, Ruyshiro-san, did you forget? We are samurai- death should not be feared!"
"Of course not, " replied Okubo quietly. Taadaki pursed his lips, as though stopping his words, then decided to speak again.
"If I didn't know you as a cold-blooded strategist, I would've knocked you down for your foppishness," said Taadaki gruffly, but Okubo noticed a twinkle of a smile in his friend's eyes.
"I doubt it," said Okubo, patting his round belly. "You can only roll a boulder, not knock it down."
The tension dispersed, and the men laughed, enjoying the little joke at their leader's expense.
Minamoto cleared his throat, and everyone looked his way. Okubo turned to him again.
Good God, what did he want now?
he wondered.
"We should make an offering at the shrine here. Appease the gods from our side. Does anyone know which Kami the shrine venerates?"
Okubo smiled, pleased to see that for once Minamoto's pretentious face looked confused at his reaction. "Find that out tomorrow, Minamoto. I'd stay very, very far away from the shrine tonight, if I were you..."
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On the other side of the town, the foot soldiers were staggering drunkenly over the temple steps. Some of the smarter soldiers had taken the prisoners of war out for a night time 'stroll' and the shrine seemed to be the best place to go.
The shine was relatively undamaged, unmarred by the blemishes of the battle. Most of the monks and priests had surrendered peacefully, and because the soldiers were not stupid enough to evoke the wrath of the gods, they took them far away from the shrine to behead them.
But now alcohol had dulled everyone's senses, and they saw no difference between sacred ground or a whorehouse. So, a whore house it had now become.
For some of them, it was their last night to live before being executed; for others, it was a way to erase the pain and curb the gnawing needs of the flesh.
Men and women lay in various states of undress, bent over the parapets, lying on the floor, or pushed up against walls, doing their business wherever they pleased. Gifts and offerings to the gods, holy plaques and prayer papers littered the open yard in front of the oratory. Moans and shrieks could be heard echoing through the open doors of the worshiping hall.
A crowd of men passed through this agglomeration of profanity. They were a gang of low ranking foot soldiers, sent by their Lieutenant to go clear out the people from that area. They disturbed the groups, breaking them up, yelling at them to return back to camp.
In the center of their group walked a tall, dark-skinned man, clothed in a dirty-green kimono. The men around him seemed to move with him, as though forcibly being pulled along against their will. Although they did not talk or look at him, they were very much aware of his presence, enough to not break the circle around him.
It rather looked like the men were surreptitiously trying to protecting the environment from this man.
The group passed through the prayer hall, and stopped in front of the doors to the inner sanctum.
"Wait, Sentomaru," said one of the men suddenly. "We should not do this."
It was as though a shiver of fear passed around the group, by his words, infecting each man with doubt. The men mumbled among themselves. The dark man stood stoically, as though waiting for them to finish their thought.
The man leading the party, Sentomaru, glanced at the speaker behind him. "Oh come on!" he burst out after a while, turning to face the men. "The Miko of the shrine herself swore that she and her maidens will serve us if we didn't kill them. You will never get a chance like this Hantaro, you fool - the girls chosen for temples are the best kinds to fuck-" he said, lewdly. "Beautiful faces, tight bodies- you know, only the most perfect and beautiful ones get selected to be shrine maidens- and they're all virgins!" he said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. The group seemed to relax, hungry for the feast waiting for them.
"All that god serving makes them awful horny," Sentomaru pushed further, "so they literally beg you to fuck them, and you can make them do anything you want! And, she said she had a surprise for us as well... It'd be a sin to turn down a blessing like that!" Some of the men laughed at his jest; Hantaro still seemed unsure.
"That's all good and fine, but Kami live in the inner sanctum. I'm not going in there," decided Hantaro finally, turning around. "I'll go fuck someone else elsewhere." A few other men changed their minds, and followed him out of the hall.
"Fine. When you're old and shriveled up you'll remember this day and regret it!" called out Sentomaru.
"Whatever," replied Hantaro, not turning around. The remaining men turned to face Sentomaru.
"Well, I'm not opening the doors. I mean-" he corrected quickly, "the most worthy should go first. That means you, Oni-san." Sentomaru stood aside, motioning to the gold-embossed doors.
The man let out a little 'hmph' and walked forwards, giving a sweeping glance at Sentomaru as he raised his hands to push open the door.
It might have been the wind, but Sentomaru thought the man had called him 'dickless'.
