But where were those beasts other than within ourselves? They allow this place to stand, this place to bewitch those who want to be with. This is where they lie, the beasts. Wolves will roam and contracts be made, but for how long will this last? They call this place those of which cult-leaders roam, where the blood that drips from thy wrists are made from cuts of impurity. Through the impurity you will be blessed, from the devil... through the devil... by the devil.
Posted: Sat Feb 14, 2015 4:18 am
"Through him we have also obtained access by faith into this grace in which we stand, and we rejoice in hope of the glory of God. More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us."
If only that were true.
When the wolf-masked man came down south, we knew that our Gods could not save us. Not the Gods of the spirit. We needed a God of the flesh, much as he had his - the Enemy, the demonic beast that controlled his every move and calculated past us all; a living entity of immortal mastery, a slavedriver that sought to exploit us not for economy or production but for screams. And we knew screams. We knew how to suppress them, how to make them thunder. There were pleasured screams and pained ones.
The men of my tribe knew how to be broken. How to act it. They knew that when it decided that they were broken, it would set them free of their pain; release their tether to the planet. So - they screamed squeaks, eerily, loud, obnoxious, broken, weakened, winnowed; they funneled their last bit of deceit into their dying wails, and so they were let off with only half the torture that the average man faced.
I cannot nearly begin to explain to you how terrible that experience was. I watched as my father was flayed alive by the cutting blade of the Demon Lord, his eyes eerily glancing at me as a smirk grew on his lips. Somehow, I knew he wouldn't kill me. I wasn't afraid so much as I was mortified. And, I guess in one way I was afraid - it's tiring to think about where you'll go once your pillar of support has gone. In truth the Samara have a thousand fathers that will all guide and protect them when it is right, but I did not know them as I did him, and they felt no true love for me outside of the simple connection that made us a Tribe.
When it was over, my brother - Oda - fled with me and the tribe, as we went north and northeast by sea. We arrived at the southernmost island of the Ryukyu Dynasty, making money and bedding young women and men in order to further our Tribe. But like with Nomads, we had to migrate. Migrate. Island to island. It was more difficult than going by Land - but we had no choice. Shinsei had too much influence over the Huan-Pei and the Guron, the two nations kneeling at his feet for the purpose of keeping themselves out of the line of fire. There was no safety for men from the Barbary Lands. We had to find the village of Mist and we had to live in harmony with the country.
Eventually, our Tribe almost disassembled. We've regained our ways, and we've formed a sub-community within the village, with a Clan Compound to boot . . . but, since we were all expected to put our genjutsu talents into the village's roster, we've been forced to abandon our Nomadic lifestyle. I was placed into the military, and others were made into spies and other such elites. Yes - this is the background to the greatest song the world will ever hear; the story of how the Barbary People . . . the most saddened and tarnished of all . . . will return one day to rule the East, all in the hands of a one Hutar Hakam.
"Ah, Hutar!" The married man exclaimed, clutching the skin over his thighs as he leaned back into the bed and exhaled. The young Samara moved away from the-between of his legs, and placed his chest against the bed, relaxing for a moment before rolling over and staring at the ceiling. "You really are the best," the man said, a stupid smile on his face. He wasn't ugly or anything - he was kind of cute in a way, but for some reason Hutar just got so tired of dealing with him. He . . . talked. After so many years of senseless ********, you started to get really irritated by people who tried to actually become friends - compliment you, serenade you, offer you gifts outside of the expected fee. The Samara loved it in a way, but despised it too; it was so complicated. People were complicated.
"I know," he said. "I'm Samara." They had the Qazan - the eye that made them into the ultimate procurer of desires. But for them? It didn't really do much. Hutar always wondered how it would be like to be on the other side of it. He felt like - if he knew - he'd never be able to do this with anyone but another Samara. He'd heard of stuff like that happening before - and love, and relationships, within the Tribe. It was weird. It made him uncomfortable.
In Basan, he learned that rich Eastern men and women enjoyed soiling the bodies of poor young Barbarians. He knew that for damn sure. Many of the Samara that didn't die were taken into sex slavery by the Generals and Generalettes of Shinsei's Horde. Their life, and a luxurious lifestyle at that, in exchange for the ultimate pleasure every offweek or so. People in the world of the wealthy valued debauchery so much that he wondered if they were the true Barbarians.
"Hutar," Samir asked, turning over to stare at the young man's figure as he spoke to him. "Could I - offer you a proposal?" He raised his eye, smirking at the Samara. "Sure," he replied. Unlike with after his . . . climax, he was back to a giddy expression - ever so fabricated so that he may obtain a more favorable offer in the midst of this proposal. "Well -" the rich man began, "I was wondering if you would like to form a bond - a contract. I guess you could call it." Hutar's expression lowered, quite wary of what he was about to hear. Samir saw that and responded by waving him down slightly, trying to ensure that it wasn't so bad a prop - but, it was.
"I'm tired of my life. My arrangements. I only married so that I could produce an heir for my company. My son is nearly six years old now, and my wife has grown more and more suited to her wealthy lifestyle. Suited in that she's grown less sweet, and more expecting. Suited in that she's begun to believe she can make demands of me, and dominate the future of my son. She even wishes to supply her mother with a share of my company. She's become insufferable." He was beating around the bush a lot - but, it was all to get to the point without it all seeming so sudden. He wasn't sure, though - was it sudden? Was it strange? Was this the end of their current arrangement? He wanted to risk it, because their "current arrangement" was lifeless, expensive, all for a momentary serendipity every-now-and-then. He wanted something that could last a lifetime.
"You want a divorce," Hutar said. The man smiled slightly, nodded instantly; that was what he wanted. "Yes. And I want something else - you. I'm tired of living this fake life in order to keep up appearances. I want to embrace my intended destiny - with the desires I was born with, with the man whose company I enjoy." That . . . was where it began to really scare Hutar, who had not been in this for much more than money. He liked Samir and he was a nice guy, but there was no love and no deep connection. He wasn't sure exactly what the hell he was proposing, but it certainly seemed a breech of Hutar's ideals.
And yet, it was dangerous to reject . . . because this man was powerful, hell he oversaw the construction of the Samara Clan Compound.
But would he be vengeful? Hutar wasn't so sure. He didn't think it so; the man was, as he knew, not bad. He really liked Hutar, however - so much that he was willing to risk everything for him. He wondered how such a strong bond could come from just parties, chats, poetry and cuddling, and weekly pleasuring? Perhaps it was that all of these things combined to make quite the lover-friend, a story of how joy can create romance. And yet the Incubus was not quite so sure; not at all.
"You said this is a contract?" He raised an eyebrow, scooting himself forward to where their skins were touching and their eyes only a foot away. This was an important moment, so he assured his companion that he would listen fervently. "Yes," he replied. "If you come and live with me - and help me take care of my son, I will reward you with a wealthy lifestyle. I will help pay for the expenses of your direct family, making them no longer be forced to serve the military. The Samara will become richer and worry less. And in exchange, you need only go on as usual. I simply enjoy your presence. Though perhaps-" he moved in closer, kissing at the Incubus' neck. "You would consider my courting of you, too. Because I cannot imagine living on without the allowance of such a procedure."
The man could describe with words, with actions, how he was feeling at all times. In this case - it was simple.
The delicacies of carnal desire and love were mastered by all of his kin . . . the constant sway of emotions, the imbalance of need and want; pull and push, recede, retract . . . he knew all of these things, and so he knew very well that accepting at point-blank was foolish. He was a courtesan, and even though he sort of liked Samir, and sort of liked the idea of being taken care of and living easily with the gentle-hearted man, he had to remain suave and keep his business face on. The difficulty that came with that too, however, was whether or not the idea of business would scare the man away from the arrangement. If he figured that Hutar only used him for money, which he may have already suspected by now, then all of their affections could end at a single bout of rage. He did not know what was to be done.
"I do not need an endless lifestyle of golden layers and diamond jewels as your wife did - but instead, something upfront to help me truly help my tribe would ensure my heart forever. 100,000 Ryo - and that would spare you from the eternal burden of providing for me, my brother and my cousins. It could buy the Samara another district to their compound, or a large farmland so they wouldn't have to fight in wars ever again. I care about my family. I would much prefer they are all given a boon rather than knowing some live the lifestyles of Kings. We must all contribute equally in order to stay alive." He wondered at that moment - were there others that faced the same moral dilemma as him, in his tribe?
In the few months they'd been in Mizu no Kuni, they had an entire Compound built for them - usually reserved for the best of Clans - they had ate healthy and boastful amounts of food, and they had been supplied with military-grade weapons and training. They were already one of the top Clans of the Mist, and this wasn't only because of their power and what they could contribute. It was largely because of their manipulation of rich partners who sought to find lovers in the most obscure of lands. He wondered that this might all backfire on them one day - might they one day be seen simply as traveling thieves within the village, being forced yet again to run from the hounds and the rich men with rich hitmen?
He wondered if this deal now would hurt him later. He . . . wondered.
"I will gladly do that and more for you, Hutar." He grinned. He snuggled up with the Incubus, to which the man simply put on a weak smile. He was tired. He'd been doing so much thinking and so much pleasuring today that he couldn't really do either anymore. Now he just wanted to sail off with the birds and the bees off - whoever knew where, the dreamlands. Soil made of seashells. "But first . . . you must make a choice."
His body was drifting to the "state of stasis", his mind's coherence fading into a dim nothing. He didn't want to think - he didn't know. He was an inch away from falling asleep just like this, but perhaps regretfully, before he descended into a slumber . . . "Well . . . Yes." He made those words - a choice, to live the fate of a nagging and crying househusband with a son that wasn't his and a world of money-fueled exploitation ahead. He had to always remember that the vipers that called themselves human were always sweet until they could bite you. It only remained to be seen if this man would be that way. It remained to be seen.
The final place Rose would go to before returning to Kiri with his report. So far, he found nothing. From the most savage of places to the, now, the most cursed, Rose would search once more for any clues that may lead him to the culprit if not at the very least something for him to provide to his Kage outside of him just getting an excessive amount of cardio.
Rose had given a search but came up with nothing. With so little information, there was very little for him to go off of. But he searched but his village and the hot spots for criminals that lay within the Water Country; none of the bore fruit. With his mind at ease for giving all the he could, Rose would take his leave from the eerie shrine to head back home. Collect his income for the mission and then probably begin working on another puppet schematic.
Atlas stopped moving once he got to the shrine. He was far enough away from Konoha. He wasn't really running, but his Gattsu was getting fairly low near the end of that fight. The body being carried by blood behind him slowed him down as well. He placed the two pieces of the corpse on the ground, before sitting down next to it. Atlas actually hadn't eaten it yet. It had something valuable attached to it, something that would prove to be a waste if eaten. His eyes, Sharingan.
Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 4:11 pm
It wasn't exactly a long winter - but it was a tough one. He'd encountered all the works - issues with his family, at least one Samara for every problem, and at least one problem for one Samara. The farming fields he'd bought had struggled during the foggy cold of the Mist winter, and some investments were damaged or lost. Still, things were going well, and with the warmer seasons coming up he knew that his family would prosper. He decided to come to this shrine and pray to his old Gods for help, perhaps the new ones too. When he finally made it, though, he noticed one singular and peculiar young man . . . with the heavy scent of the deceased. "Are you alright, traveler?"
"Oh I'm just having trouble with switching eyes with this guy." Atlas decided to be honest about this situation. The man shouldn't have had any real attachment to the dead guy, or so he hoped. Atlas eyed the corpse. It was pretty gruesome, some of his insides probably fell out on the way here.
Posted: Thu Mar 26, 2015 4:38 pm
His eyebrow perked up. So - that meant he probably killed him, and wanted his eyes. Interesting. Judging by the attire, the other shinobi was probably Leaf Village - an enemy of Hutar's, but still, that was ********' gruesome. The Samara narrowed his eyes and sighed, his fingers massaging his forehead as he decided what to do. He could help Atlas, considering he could use medical techniques . . . and without handseals at that. But, he kind of felt like he wanted to know what this was all about, first. So - he decided to ask. "Did you kill him? And if so . . . why?" The answer probably wouldn't change anything. Hutar was still willing to help Atlas out, considering he couldn't stand to let this bloody scene unfold any further.
Curiosity, however, was strong in him. "I'll help you transplant the eye. Just lay down and tell me the whole story. It'll be over before you know it." He saw that there were two eyes, as well. One for Atlas, one for safe-keeping? One for the black market? Who even knew?
The random stranger was a curious one, bravely asking questions when most would turn away and pretend they saw nothing. Atlas smiled at the man, jabbing his finger into the side of corpse, pointing at it. "Yeah, I killed him. Orders are orders. He got in the way." That answer would suffice. "Tell you what, you help me, I'll let you have the other eye." Atlas wouldn't disclose anymore information. He barely knew the guy. Plus he didn't know what Kleine would do if an outsider learned of their plans.
Posted: Fri Mar 27, 2015 4:57 am
The older man nodded. He didn't really need to question much more than that - there was no part of him that desired to make pointless enemies by judging someone by right or wrong. He was just here to pray, and to help. Perhaps the corpse-wielding fiend was the answer to his prayers . . . considering he just offered him a free eye. "Oh really?" He asked, holding his arms behind his back - staring Atlas in the eye. "Well, if it was orders, then who am I to judge? I'm just a shinobi too - we all follow orders. Good or bad." Though he still knew he could fault someone for putting themselves into the position to follow unjust orders. Some people wanted to be unjust. Some people wanted the "bad" orders to do bad things and kill good people.
Even so, that was not his place . . . yet. He was just a man, and this was just a shrine. He didn't find the want to do anything else but be benevolent. And so - he stepped over to Atlas, guaranteed the boy's safety, gently extracted the eyes and began the process of implanting. Considering he was a Senju - a gene manipulator - he was able to implant the eye into Atlas' skull without ripping out his old one. It was as simple as extracting and manipulating the genes and properties of one eye and changing the properties of the second. Less painful. Less of a hassle at the beginning, though it'd end up the same as every other implant.
The other eye - he didn't waste any time in doing the same for himself. Hutar was loyal as ever, and more power meant more treasures for the Samara. Atlas made a deal that he was more than willing to take up on. "There you go. Over before you knew it, yes?" He smiled slightly, slowly closing his altered eye that was now stained red. It was sort of irritating. It kind of hurt. It'd be like this for a bit. "Now, you should let that corpse return to the soil."
The eyes were transplanted fairly quickly, to Atlas' joy. Thanks. He laughed at his comment concerning the corpse. "Not quite. I recommend you back up." Atlas' jaw unhinged. Within an instant, the body was gone, eviscerated by whatever was in his maw. Once it was gone, he slid his lips across his forearm, removing whatever remained of Arashi. He felt... empowered.
