The Private Letters of a Japanese Expatriate by Hatamura Kyoshiaru

[BraveSirRobin]

The Private Letters of a Japanese Expatriate

as written by
Hatamura Kyoshiaru

Foreword: All of the documents in this biography represent the private writings and musings of Hatamura Kyoshiaru. Unless expressly indicated otherwise, all documents herein are considered to be written in Japanese Kanji as it would have been known during the late Sengoku Jidai-period of Japan. However, for my sanity and the readers' own, I will not be providing any visual representation of this.

This collection of letters can be assumed to be physically in the possession of Hatamura Kyoshiaru, or in her travelling luggage at any given point and time. Despite the pretense of letters written, there is no clear intent or attempt to send these letters, for there is no way to send these letters back to Japan, functioning as a roaming diary to a distressed and isolated expatriate of Japan.

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


It has been eight days since I awoke to a misty morning in our home in Edo. As asked of me, I had left to the Dojo to continue lessons of arts our family should know, that I may protect our home and Daimyo should he fail in the final peace, should Edo come to be attacked. Yet, it is my karma that a Kami should have risen and displaced me. Now I find myself in a town called Vallaki, in a land far-off called, "Barovia."

I do not know where this Barovia is. There is no map, and it is not part of the Europe from which the Christian Traders travel from with their goods. Yet, there are Christians here, and none have heard of Japan. I am cursed to be in a land in which, there are so many with similar faces, eyes, armour, and even traditions as the Samurai without sharing a tongue or belief system in Shinto, Buddhism, or even our grasp of Christianity.

I am cursed with this karma to be alone in such a strange land. I miss our children, Yumi, Mizhu, and Kaganawa. I miss you, for it had been many months since you were in Edo last. I am afraid for the tide which rises in this land of barbarians, which have no conception of good manners, and live the lives of worthless mercenaries without concern for honour, dignity, or community.

Yet now, I wonder if I, too, am but a worthless mercenary? How can I serve our Daimyo so far away, in this misty land of unwashed barbarians?

I will write you again, when I have found ink, paper, and time to be alone.


You are in my thoughts,

Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


You would not believe that this land knows nothing of chai, or sake. They do not seem to even have rice, or know of it. Instead, they drink a form of sake that is made from barley, or grapes, or in the most foul of circumstances, of fermented plums.

There is a form of dish called, 'Ghiveci,' that consists of cooked fish from the local lake. It is nothing like the fish at home, nor is it prepared so well, but it is enough of a familiar taste that I am able to nourish myself. Though there is little rice, there is something called a potato, and it is good. Like the Koreans, they eat garlic on much of their food here, and I cannot easily stomach the smell of it. At request, my potatoes are unseasoned but for salt and butter.

You were right to take me to Nagasaki, those years ago, and to teach me how to speak with traders. Despite being from seemingly unrelated and distant lands, all here speak at the bare minimum this common trade tongue we have used with the foreigners that trade in our home. Many try to tell me, that I will never see Japan again; But I would surely perish in the heart were I to never see the beautiful cherry blossoms of our home again, nor the smell of Edo bay. My flowers would wilt that known, I will never see Kaganawa be given his two swords, to show Yumi and Mizhu inner-peace in Kyujutsu, as you have shown me. To never see them married, and wed. To see Kaganawa become a statesman, in the peace our Daimyo has promised us.

Tell me, have we found peace yet? Has the matter of succession been resolved, has our Daimyo triumphed and put all others to peaceful rest? Can the warring of our family's generations finally be put at an end?

I wish you could reply to these letters, so much as I wish you could know I am alive. I am sorry that I have failed in my duty to you, and our Daimyo.


Dutifully,

Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


I will always think of you when I think of red. I know this colour means more to your history than it ever did to mine. Once in service to the Takeda before their fall, you always maintained your red armour. When I had left to the Dojo, I was wearing that very selfsame suit you had left behind in Edo to meet with my instructor. Your unyielding loyalty to your Liege has always served you well at heart, and to know that you fought for one Lord, until your dying breath; To be Ronin; Then in service to another, brought peace to you as it does me.

I have a new suit of armour now. It is fashioned in the Japanese way but made of exotic materials I have never heard before. Steel plates gilded with a material called Electrum, which I am told is found in far-off regions of the continent known as, 'The Core,' that I am on. The land in which I current reside is adjacent to many other lands, with many Emperors, whom of which all are divided by walls of magical Mists and cursed as this land is.

For which is the reason I have been forced to entreat a local Blacksmith to the task. This land is not like Japan, for which the vile evils that are set upon us come in the form of militant ambition; These, evils, are in the form of the nightmares that man could conjure. Men who are vengeful wolves; Blood-drinking, cursed men of the Night who fear the Sun. It is everything that we were told as children to fear in the misty darkness of our home, yet never saw; Keeping us tucked well within our beds, and hoping for Amaterasu's light to shine come the morn. Every wicked, terrifying tale of our upbringing has been made manifest as reality in this twisted land called Barovia.

For this reason, I often find myself wondering; Am I truly here, or have I been attacked, and I am just asleep in Edo? Do you lean over me, worried sick for my health as I slumber from a dream from which I can never awaken? I am afraid I will never know the true answer.

I will think of you, Tokaro; I will venerate your armour, and always keep it in storage, on a stand; Though I regret that I did not bring your kabuto. I have new armor, now; For now, as I journey, I have painted it green. I will again some day wear red; Red, to remind me of you.


Yours,

Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


I had never killed before I was forced into this twisted dream. I never thought that the day would come that I was forced to don armour, grasp a blade, and fight on behalf of my Daimyo, my Husband, my Family. In a way, I was right. I never did.

I killed on behalf of my own self-interest to survive in a world where I am no Samurai beyond my spirit, but a beggar woman drifting between domain with little value, rights, or perceived dignity. I had written to you of Barovia with queer amusement at the design of stone buildings, the food of the land, the unwashed and barbaric habits of the peoples. There was, for a short time, a quaint amusement to how such a hardy people might have survived to found a functioning land, a civilization, amidst the endless tides of sheer monstrosities. They were monsters, like in old tales, and I slew them all with a blade bound in magic said to be of the Kami of Rokushima Taiyoo.

I have now fled Barovia. Lawful as I was and deferential to the authorities, I was selected by random and accosted by a number of men who desired to search my belongings. I acquiesced without qualm by due lawful nature, but when they wished to feel my body to search for things that might be hidden along it, I refused for the sake of your honour. Despite women being present, they refused my request to be searched by one. They then announced their intent to capture me, to make an example of me for violating their laws; Though no written law that I have seen supported their actions or claim. I drew my Tachi, and stepped back; They drew their weapons and from the outset it was clear to me that I had no chance of killing all of them. I drew my tanto, and brought it to my neck with clear intent to preserve my dignity and yours, in an honourable death before the dishonour of capture, but -- Tokaro, I could not.

I was a coward, and I did not do what so many would have in my steps, before submitting themselves to a barbarous, foreign authority who by all measure had kidnapped me with some foul Magick to place me in this misbegotten land of tragedy. I dishonoured you, my Tokaro, and I ran to preserve my life like the coward that I am, and I did not even try to take theirs, for it did not seem possible nor dignified to do. I was captured. I was beaten, my bones broken, and cast into the midnight hour of this land where so many creatures walk as predators with only my recent student and impromptu Ashigaru to protect me. I lost face to him, in that moment; To be mewling and so weak.

That night, I made the decision to leave. I took the last of my money; Two hundred and six gold and walked until the straps of my geta had fallen free, and then upon bare feet to a distant camp within the swirling mists of Barovia. There, dark-skinned strangers in rolling wagons pulled by Oxen took my coin in exchange to leave this land, and I rode for several days. I arrived in a realm called, 'Dementlieu,' wherein I am told relations with the Rokushima Taiyoo are frequent, for the Chinese traded unto us Silk, as the Rokuman do to Dementlieuse, and as the Portuguese traded unto us Firelocks, do the Dementlieuse the Rokuman. I hope to learn more about this culture which so frequently I am mistaken for, that perhaps I might understand more. Had, more our kind, been cast here in times past? Perhaps the Samurai of Clan Taira's souls did not manifest as crabs after their mass-seppuku, but rather, fell through the sea to this land?

I arrived in what is called, 'Port-au-Lucine,' the capital city of La Sérénissime République de Dementlieu, where the major port of trade is located between this nation and all others. I have six gold in my pocket, and only my equipment upon my back. I will write you soon again.


Yours,

Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


I had written to you that I had never killed before, but had now. I was lost in my thoughts and did not properly elaborate. Shortly after arriving in Port-au-Lucine, I met two interesting men. One was an Elf -- A creature which has long ears, and sleight form, who wielded Firelocks and wore a queer hat. The other, is a man whose blood seems mixed with those of our kind, and some far off other culture which has left his skin paler, with blue eyes, and reddish hair by the name of, 'Rex.'

It would appear that the board upon which I gazed was the local Lord's bounty board, for the free hiring of mercenaries to pursue warrants that which the local guards could not. I was unaware of the sum, or the true crimes of the individual in nature, but my belly rumbled with hunger. This land is an expensive one.

I followed, and I followed deep into a magnificently crafted, but odorous tunnel called a sewer. There, I saw a man, and a gang of similar men of large stature and mutated features which lived among pooled stool and urine to hide from the surface world.  In this place, there are many such men as he, and they are all untouchables in their respective societies, whether they hail from Barovia, Dementlieu, or other lands.

I killed him. I removed his head with one clean cut after he was felled and gazed into his mutated features, his slack-jaw and dull, dead eyes. I stared as you have many times in the great people you have killed. After offering this warrior the dignity of being viewed upon, I cut loose his shirt and wrapped his decapitated skull into it. It was the first thing, close to a real person, I have ever killed.

I fear that I enjoyed it. I fear that I enjoyed the knowledge that my sword had ended one life, and that the monetary remuneration I received in exchange for this deed has branded me and in my soul, a true mercenary, so far removed from the ways of a Samurai as you would have liked, my Tokaro. Am I considered Ronin? My Daimyo is not dead, but I have no way of knowing how to return to him. In the in between I am killing men on loose grounds for financial profit. Am I Wako, then?

How is one to be Samurai, and so far from any of his or her duties? Does it matter, that I would return to them gladly, if I only knew how to go home?


I pray for your wisdom,

Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


I had a nightmare.

Living within this twisted dream, my nights are fitful and without rest. So little do I eat, when surrounded by foreign foods and so little of home that I fear it is visible in my face. I have been without rice, and instead, substituted strange noodles and fish from the markets in Port-au-Lucine. I was told that a Rokuman restaurant, the nearest thing to a Japanese establishment in this land, existed just before my arrival and closed before I arrived. It is my karma, I have thought to myself; Whatever curse I have deserved, only exists to taunt me like a mad Kami dancing in the flames.

Flames, that sprouted from my nightmares. I am not you, Tokaro; I am not so great. I was never raised to be a warrior from birth, and I now exist in a land where my faith is non-existent. In my dreams, I saw myself; Myself, but a dark mirror of what I was. I saw Mizhu, Yumi, Kaganawa, adults and beautiful before darkness consumed them. Then, stood you; Your eyes, your disapproval, wracked my soul with shame so deep I wished then and there for your approval to end my life.

You attacked me; I though it was my karma to deserve such a death, but my hand moved to my sword without my thinking, and so furious were the sparks that our blades birthed that a ring of fire consumed us to the core, the pain was all-consuming and my screams were so torrid that I could make them no longer. Then, I awoke.

Sweat so deeply consumed me, that I felt as if I had urinated in the bed, thirst so deeply scored my throat and my tongue that I drank the entire pitcher beside my bed in my rented room. What does this dream mean? Are you dead, or am I?



Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


I had thought I was getting better at this. Yet, in being among these foreigners and seeing them together and sharing culture, and a family, and a life I once had? It has cut me. It has been nearly one month since I was taken into this twisted dream. I had held a reserved hope for a swift resolution and an opportunity to find an answer to why I am here yet as time lingers on I feel smaller by the day. I am alone. I am alone, and not just by function of physical isolation, but I am ideologically and culturally adrift in a sea of unfamiliar currents.

No matter how I may resolve myself to steel against the rage in my heart, it is drowned by the sorrow that floods my veins, pumping away at my very spirit. I have no friends, and no acquaintances of note. I do not speak the tongues of the locals, nor am I an object of any concern to them. Why would I be? I am just a girl, and a girl with no value in a land filled with so much more to worry of than the likes of me.

Silently, I try to be everything I was taught to be. Polite, and silent, and of no obstruction, yet as my poverty worsens and my loneliness grows, I do not know what to do next. I wish I knew what the next steps should be, for a muddy water covers the stones that keep my foot from sinking into the silt. I initially tried to preserve the idealism of being Samurai, as you would have held to heart, but I am no Samurai; I am a girl, and though I am born of them, I have never been like you, Tokaro. I have never been raised to such esteem nor entrusted with more than my lot. Did I wield a sword? Yes. I wielded a sword, but I never killed, until I came to here. I never cut flesh. Did I practice with a bow? Yes, I did. I never killed with it, until I came here, and rather than doing so in service of our Daimyo, or you, I did it just so that I could live.

I am not meant to live; Samurai are not meant to live, they are meant to die, and by finding this revelation they hold no inhibitions; What do I die for? Do I die for you? How could I ever manage seppuku alone and die with dignity?

My heart is heavy, and more than anything else, I wish for a friend in this land that understood anything about my life. My isolation gnaws at my soul, and the pain of being here, I wonder if it will ever eclipse my fear of doing what I know I should have done already?


Kyoshi

[BraveSirRobin]

Tokaro,


     It has been two weeks now I have spent in this strange city. A fly on the wall I have been to see so much. Those whose stations are so lofty, they care not for the fly; Those who are so lowly, they care for the maggot gorging itself upon a carcass seeking to become. I have been in the presence of what these people would call Barons, and other such things as Knights. They are not unlike Daimyos, and Samurai, and others of our land. However, their purposes are tenfold and focused upon the corporeal.

From my position upon stone, I stare up at a giant and see only its' ankles. Yet, it is the dog that finds me there, seeking me for its' plaything. This society is not for me. I had hoped to find something of the Rokuman here, to learn more of these distant like-minded peoples, yet I have only found the immense sorrow of a cruel world thrust into barely mitigated chaos.

An Elf I call Long-ear, a scheming thing of criminal intent saw me as a carcass by which the maggot may feed. It is not Human, it is a creature of malevolence seeking only the exorbitance of material wealth. It offered me the lot of a criminal, to consume toxins in exchange for gold so that it may see the effect it has on my body. It has insulted me through this offer it claims to be benevolence. It has insulted me for my denial. It is a vain, shallow creature that covets what it will never have, and so writhes in the mud among maggots.

The immense sorrow that ached in my heart after realizing the ignominy of such an offer, that I am seen so lowly as to consume sham-medicine as a criminal is used to test a sword, has killed my self-pity. I have sought a money-lender, enough to cover my immediate needs, and indebted myself to a species known as 'Dwarves,' to get away from this city, where I am so strange and alone. I embrace my solitude, and embrace my pain to focus my anger. I roam now, I roam to seek a new Way, for now. From Warrior, to Artisan, I will hunt, and kill, and do whatever I must. This land cares little for the station of women, so many which dress as whores in comfort and in mixed retinues of men.

So why should I care for my place? I am not a man, or a woman in this society. There is no stricture that compels a Japanese in this twisted dream but the sheer motivation and hatred I hold in my heart to seek enlightenment. A statement ironic, I know.

Now I leave, to study, to learn, to practice. To master many Ways. I will not write you again, for some time, for to me you must be dead, and to you, I must be dead. Your Consort, Ashika, is a capable woman which I chose to accompany you, for she so reminded me of myself, that your distant travels would not be alone. If the Gods listen to me, they will convey my consent that you marry her in my absence, if another more fortuitous arrangement does not present itself to the House of Hatamura. Thank you, for all you have taught me.

---------------------------------
The rose of sorrow withers,
Black petals soon curl,
From earth to earth it shall go.
---------------------------------

~ Kyoshiaru