[Five Months Ago][h3][right]Okin - Heo Jeong [/right][/h3][hr]
[hider=Keep Your Enemies Close]
Heo Jeong, he would not claim the title of Crown Prince, stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He needed a Kingdom to make [i]Crown Prince[/i] mean something; and to call the slip of land he now ruled anything more than a wasteland was a cruel joke. Scrub grassland rolled away in every direction crowned by the small hill he had claimed as his command post. Before him, their ranks decimated by hunger, disease, and desertion, were all that remained of the armies of Okin. Small contingents of allied troops were scattered here and there to strengthen the line, their banners somehow brighter and taller than his own.

A small creek, barely knee deep, ran across the landscape before the front rank and beyond that, drawn up in silent menacing ranks, were the armies of Akaiba in all their blood red glory. By the Gods he hated them. 

For his entire life, and that of his father, the Akaiba had savaged the lands of his people. It was a war that his ancestors had once believed they could win but in his fathers time that slim hope had vanished to the wind as the Southern armies swallowed his country whole. Still, he would not go quietly into the night. He had fretted over his decision for the last week as the end drew nearer and decided, at last, to die with his head held high. There was no alternative. The Akaiba would never permit him to live if he surrendered. 

"My lord." One of the two staff officers who still lived interrupted his reverie and pointed. A single samurai had ridden forth from the enemy army. He was dressed like all the others in blood red but a black banner on his back told all those watching that he was a man of importance. His halted his mount at the edge of the stream, a bowshot length from the Okin forces, and waited.  

"I will meet him. Alone." The last word halted his advisors in their tracks as Jeong snapped his fingers and his horse was brought forward. He swung up into the saddle, settled his longsword, and then rode down the slight slope of the hill.

His army parted in front of him, thousands of desperate eyes in terrified faces; some so young they could not even grow a whisp of hair. Ill fitting armour, weapons to big for their bearers; what a pitiful ragtag army he had managed to scrape from a land already bled dry. Only his Naga allies seemed even remotely prepared but they too watched him with hidden fear. They knew they would die with screaming alongside him when the enemy crossed the stream.

As he passed beyond the front ranks of the army and the crush of stinking armoured bodies lifted he felt the cool wind swirl around him, gently touching his face and making his horses mane dance. As he drew closer to the distant rider he was surprised to see that the man wore no face mask. The Akaiba had always worn masks stylized with snarling faces that served as effective means of terrifying an enemy. To see a high ranking soldier without one was unexpected.

He halted just shy of the water on his own side of a stream, the water so thin that the two men could easily converse without having to yell.

"Crown Prince Heo Jeong." The Akaiba rider bowed his head slightly.

"General Taketora Ogata." Jeong knew the man, having been forced to retreat time and time again by the others ability to turn Jeongs flank. He was an infuriating enemy but one that Jeong had come to respect. 

"I am glad you are still alive." Jeong looked for any sort of sarcasm in his enemies tone but there was none; the samurais black eyes regarded him in turn with something bordering on curiosity.

"Not as glad as I am." Jeong offered lamely and, incredibly, the two men shared a weak chuckle. This meeting was fast turning into one of the strangest moments in Jeongs life. He had expected threats, rudeness, a demand for surrender, anything but politeness, especially from an Akaiba. "Have you come to demand my surrender?"

"No." The single word nearly stopped Jeongs heart. Something else was happening here. He glanced to the East and West, half expecting to see dust clouds descending on him from the flank. Nothing but scrub grass and blue sky as far as the eye could see.

"Please forgive me General, but I am at a lose for words then, given out current... Situation..."

The General offered a thin smile and it occurred to Jeong that other man was wrestling with how to proceed. Whatever he had to say was running contrary to everything he had done up to this point. Jeong opted to not push the point and waited quietly. He took the opportunity to study the man who had brought Okin to its knees. Taketora, the eldest of his clan, was a tall and solidly built man who bore a vicious scar across his face that left him with a permanent mocking expression, save for when he smiled.

"The situation, as you put it, has changed. Drastically." Taketora finally made peace with whatever it was he had to say. "I have received word from the Shogun that the Imperium intends to sail for Seikatsu a million strong."

Jeong did not require any further explanation. He felt the pit in his stomach become a yawning black hole as he tried to comprehend the number. A million soldiers. They would swamp the various Kingdoms of Seikatsu, locked as they were in their internal struggles. He wrestled with his emotions. Even if he somehow survived the coming battle with the Akaiba, whatever was left would be destroyed in a matter of months.

"The Shogun," Taketora continued, breaking in on Jeongs thoughts. "Wishes to extend the hand of peace and invite you, and your allies, to join us in preparing to turn back the Imperium."

Whatever Jeong has been expecting in his wildest dreams, an offer of peace was not it. Here he was, ripe for the slaughter, on the edge of oblivion, and he was being offered life. A feeling of elation and a glimmer of hope suddenly kindled deep in his soul and he fought to keep his face from betraying his feelings.

"Peace. On what terms?" He found himself almost whispering the question so that Taketora had to lean forward to hear him.

"The terms are simple. You agree to serve under the command of a general of our choosing. Your force will be kept together, as will those of your allies."

"And should we win, what of Okin?" Jeong knew he could hardly be given his lands back. That would be out of the question. 

"Okin is dead, Jeong. There is nothing left now but for you to die. We offer you the chance embrace that death leading your armies against the Elves; to earn undying glory and the gratitude of all those who call Seikatsu home." 

"Death behind every door." Jeong muttered ruthfully, though not unhappily. Anything would be better than dying in this barren scrub ridden wasteland, all that remained of his legacy. Death in battle against the Imperium would write such a different legacy, something worthy of the greatest stories and songs, something his son could be proud of. 

"Death comes for us all. There is no escaping it. We may not be able to chose when we die, but we may chose how to meet death when it comes." Taketora was watching him intently. The Akaiba considered death a part of life and Jeong had sometimes envied them for that. Now, it seemed, he would understand them at last. 

"Who is the General to command us?" Jeong knew he would agree to the Shoguns offer. It was the only choice. But, if he was to go to war in the Shoguns name, he would serve under no inferior.

"Mine." Taketora actually smiled as he said the word, his white teeth brilliant against his red helmet and black silk. 

"It would be an honour." Jeong smiled back. They might be enemies but he knew a man of tactical brilliance when he met one. How often had Taketora out fought, out manoeuvred and out marched Jeongs own forces? Often enough to earn him the nickname [i]Destroyer[/i]. 

"Your highness." The Akaiba General bowed lower this time and Jeong felt his face flush with pleasure. Taketora urged his horse across the small stream and offered a raised hand to the Last Prince of Okin. Jeong took hold of his enemies hand the two clasped forearms. Their eyes met and Jeong felt the strength of the gaze, the Generals next words igniting a fire within him that he had not known existed. It was a battle cry he had heard before, but never, until that moment, had he felt its power. 

"Death and Honour!"  [/hider]

[h3][right]Noiba Castle – Shogun Nagai Kenji[/right][/h3][hr]
[hider=The Sterile Shogun]
Kenji grunted as he heaved himself off the young maid, pausing only to wipe his cock on the edge of her kimono. Two samurai, their faces impassive, watched as they been directed from the nearby doorway. The girl lay completely still as he finished standing, her legs still splayed wide, her private places wet with his exertions. 

“You both witnessed it?” Kenji looked at the two samurai who nodded and bowed low. “Good. Get her out of here and if she doesn’t give birth to a child within nine months, kill her.”

The terrified girl was dragged whimpering out of the room, her kimono still open for the world to see her shame. The whimpers turned to quiet sobs as she was dragged down the stairs. Kenji had no doubt that one or more of the men in the barracks would have his way with the girl and she would produce a child. If it was his child she would be rewarded. If not, she and the child would both die.

Another maid flitted into the room and bowed, handing him a clean kimono. He quickly dressed, tying the cord about his waist as a third maid appeared to clear away the still glistening tatami. A fresh one was laid immediately. 

He ignored the maids and stepped out of his quarters to pace slowly down the long hallway of black and white chequered paper walls, turning at last into a small room set aside as his personal shrine.

A small satin pillow rested on the bamboo floor in front of the shrine, it bore only a small golden statue of Shakyamuni, the patron God of all those who lived in the Three Sisters.  He lit a small stick of incense and bowed his head to the floor, praying that a child would be born with his face.

Even as he did so, he knew, in his heart of hearts, that no child would ever be his. He had tried to impregnate a different maid, or girl, a week for the last five years and none had born him a child. He could feel the tears prick the corner of his eyes as he considered the reality that he would be the last of his line. The succession of his throne was not something to be taken lightly. Without an heir the throne would pass to his oldest living cousin, Sadatake Ayeka, and Kenji was quite certain that this was the same man who had somehow made him sterile. He didn’t know how, but there was no other explanation he could think of. 

He was still on his knees praying when the first of the ninja came over the south wall of the castle. They struck first at the Water Tower, a colossal structure that stood watch over the only bridge providing any access to the fortress. Black shapes, protected from sight by a Madoushi spell, swarmed up the walls with the aid of grappling hooks and the samurai guard was swiftly overwhelmed in a hail of shuriken and crossbow bolts.

The alarm was not sounded until a sharp eyed sentry on the upper level of the castle spotted a pair of grappling hooks sail onto the upper battlements of the inner keep. He managed a shout of warning before he was cut down by the attackers.

“NINJA!” The scream went through the fortress like an arrow through a cherry blossom. Samurai leapt from their beds to take up their swords, rushing out into the night to engage the enemy. Many of them had no time to don their armour and they would pay with their lives.

“Kenji-sama!” A frantic looking samurai has burst into the Shoguns quarters. “Ninja!”

Kenji didn’t hesitate as he ripped his killing sword from its sheath and hurried to join his men. A sick feeling filled his stomach as he did so. Ninja were famously expensive and someone would have had to pay a fortune to hire them for such an attack.

The night was alive with shouts, screams, and the clash of steel. A quick glance down at the walls from his upper chamber showed his disorganized and sleepy samurai being driven quickly down the length of the wall by a well prepared and merciless adversary.

A rush of samurai from a side passage momentarily stalled the ninja attack and furious hand to hand fighting engulfed the lower level of the keep. Samurai hurled themselves at their attackers regardless of their own life and limb and were cut down in droves.

Kenji hefted his own blade and waved a number of newly arrived samurai over to join him. He felt his lips peel back from his teeth in a feral snarl. If this was how his cousin wanted to conduct the affairs of state, he would rip his heart out with his own bare hands.

“Nagai!” He snarled his ancestral battle cry and the samurai around him took up the call. Their voices melded together in a ferocious roar as they charged the oncoming ninja.

Kenji began to chant as he went, the runes on his arms bursting instantly into a dull blue glow. His feet felt lighter and it seemed as though everyone around him slowed slightly. He easily blocked the lunge of a ninja, turning his own blade over top of the others to drive the wicked point into the mans eyes. 

The ninja went down without a sound as Kenji moved on, stepping low beneath another attack, driving his own blade upwards so that it split the ninja from groin to shoulder. In an instant the pressure on his forces weakened and then broke altogether as the ninja suddenly retreated the way they had come. Kenji gave a yell of victory and, with his samurai in pursuit, rushed after them, bloodied sword aloft. 

He never saw the paint blackened caltrops in the darkness as he charged out onto the open battlements, still blinded by the torchlight from the passageway. The first spike pierced the bottom of his foot and he dropped with a scream of pain, a second driving through his thigh, a third into his stomach. The samurai behind him were unable to stop and several others were felled by the wicked objects.

A flicker in the darkness and more samurai were down as crossbow bolts harvested more lives on the battlements. Kenji tried to shout but a falling samurai forced his face down onto a caltrop, a spike stabbing into his jaw.

The samurai retreated in confusion, driven back through the doorway by more crossbow bolts. Kenji tried to climb to his feet as the ninja moved swiftly back down the battlements toward him. Their leader, a stocky man with a red dot on the forehead of his mask, made eye contact with Kenji and recognition flashed in the dark eyes. 

Kenji had no time to speak as the ninja stooped and hacked off his head, quickly shoving it into a bag at his waist before giving a sharp whistle. In an instant the ninja melted into the dark and the bloodied battlements were left to the samurai. 
[/hider]