Last night I witnessed an extensive drama play out. It was set in early Japan, or maybe on another planet that resembeld Japan, for smoe of teh flora and fauna had me a bit worried. I think getting into the Megaman community - signing up with the forums, getting to know people - has sorta had an effect on me. I will warn you, this is a very long one. Sometimes I don't dream, sometimes I do. When I do, it's usually very long, very vivid, and has some extensive backstory or another behind it. You'll see why, when you look below, but I certianly won't make you.
The first part focused on a young nordic man who had travelled to the nascent island nation, alone and exiled from his homeland. He was shamed in the eyes of his kisnmen, but nevertheless had a commitment to prove his strength. So he wandered from one village to another, conjuring up trouble and seeking the best warriors to test his resolve against. His fighting style was different from theirs, new to the samurai duelists. Gradually, he began to learn from his enemies, but their friends and next of kin were always too scared, or too spiteful, to teach this 'sea-barbarian' anything long term. Yet he continued to marvel at the ways of the samurai, and wished to know their secrets. Eventually, simply proving his strength was not enough: he was going to conquer.
So the westerner gathered up a gang of ruffians. He beat Samurai, but did not take their life - stealing their loyalties to himself. He found woodsman, and angry serfs who wanted to change their lives. They killed for him, sacking villages and taking on their inhabitants - the women turned to trophies, the men into fodder for the next battle. And all the while, he began to amass riches, and resources. Perhaps he would one day return to his homeland, this horde of asian slaves at his heels, and bring the conquest to his kinsmen. Perhaps he would invigorate them into doing more than hassling the skirts of Europe.
One day, the warrior's army eventually came to a village. There lived an aged samurai. I don't know his name, but his face says 'Musashi.' This village was old, and large. It had resources a-plenty, and Musashi was wise and battle-hardened. The warrior knew that it would take some doing to bring the town to it's knees. He wet his lips. For the first time since his campaign began, the warrior was hesitant - mentally, he kicked himself for such worries; liekened to fear was hesitation in battle, and the sting of his exile flared up once again. He drew his sword, and immediately stepped towards the forefront of his band. "Let them come for me," He spouted. "I am not afraid of this place." He did not know that his band shared in their master's fright, knowing stories about Musashi, and what he had done to brigands. Yet they also knew the very real terror of their own master - and, I assume, other nordic warriors that had been sent to exile with him.
Musashi was waiting for him out front. I do not know the battle, but I know that he decapitated the warrior, stopping the onset of the horde dead in it's tracks. As he licked at the bloodied cut that ran through the warrior's neckline, the old samurai began to take notice of the small army standing around him. They did not fear the warrior, anymore, but Musashi. Musashi saw opportunity, then, and took everyone of the brigands on as his own.
And began, again, the long series of conquests - only now the loose rabble of peasants, ruffians, and brigands were trained up by true samurai, taught how to truly wage war. And each of them were welcomed into his ever growing village as a citizen, not a slave. The samurai had their oaths broken, and their loyalties change. The peasant-slaves returned to their working lives, starting over in Musashi's town, since their old lives and family had been taken from them. Yet he found many who wanted to fight for him, who wanted to continue the conquest. Musashi obliged, and brought war on the nearest enemy village, conquering it. And again, he brought them to himself, treating the conquered not as slaves but citizens. For a nation that was slowly beginning to fear foreign dominion, and not knowing when to sotp it, this was almost great news! Musashi was a warrior, not a barbarian. He had no vendetta, no want to prove his worth through unecessary blloodshed; what fueled this new warleader was a want to expand, and see the loose collection of island tribes united. He found many who would tolerate his claims at leadership, and many who would follow him without first being subjugated. The young nation was flourishing.
But one day - and I do not know when, I do not know the circumstance - a boy began to have dreams of overthrowing Musashi. He did not see him as family, and held him in spite. His village had perhaps been destroyed, or his family torn from him. But the young man - and he was old enough to have a chidl of his own - vowed to kill the would-be emperor.
So he trained himself up, made use of the teachings that Musashi's tribe would give him. All the while, he nursed his own son's hate for the warleader - it did not tak emuch. Though young, he was old enough to know that this wasn't the family he had sought, that he had had something deprived from him, something that was rightfully his own. Eventually, he gained the skill necessary to drive the wizened samurai off, asserting himeslf as the head of these tribes.
And that is how the second part of my dream began. We skip ahead a few years. The once-warband has flourished into the makings of a civilization, now. The warleader is older, but he lives, and still accepts challenges to his leadership.
Soon, the day came when the emperor's rule would be challenged. Beasts of unknown origin began to hassle his borders and, in a replay of years gone by, ransacked entire villages. Every village worked together to stave them off, and victory seemed assured; the new emperor was soon to gain glory for himself.
Until Musashi returned. He was drawn by carriage up to his old home, tot he domain of his enemy. It was a wondrous affair, the howls of mysterious beasts coming form the wood, the gleam of his carriage showing in the night.
Had Musashi summoned these terrible demons? The emperor wondered. And worse:
Will I be able to beat him?The answer was no. Musashi tore the head off of his usurper, forgoing even the use of a blade. The sight of this wizened creature, all bone and claws and laughter, pulling off the head of this shrieking, childish leader was forever engraved int he minds of the onlookers. No one would be challenging Musashi's claim to leadership again, not for some time.
But the son of that warrior would.
I don't remember the next few events. The young man had grown up, suddenly, and had a collection of magical swords to his name - the wonder of all the village's children. One could spark fires, another had the essence of a demon bound into it. But the true marvel was the white blade that always hung on the warrior's side. It was a beautiful thing, with an ivory handle and whitened blade, so thin and sharp that it was a danger just to look at it - or so it was said.
One day, the challenge came. And, apparently, I become involved in the dream. Villagers had since warmed up the sight of a white-man, it didn't fill them with as much terror as it had the first time. That, and, well, I wasn't going to be conquering any villages, that's for damn sure. Not sure why they even abided me, in retrospect. But there I am, sitting with Musashi's son. We're looking at the young man's swords, awaiting whatever business they're conducting to be finished, and for the young warrior to come storming in, take up one of his weapons, and kill the wizened old warleader.
The boy was growing hostile. He didn't ilke the idea of his father being killed, his life being decided like this. I realized that the boy had had a hard time, in the years that he and his father had been exiled. He started going through the young warrior's things, not bothering if I saw or not. His eyes were angry, and he was going to go for the swords when I spoke up.
"It's no fun losing a home, is it?"
To his credit, the dream-boy kept a stiff upper lip. "No." He kept his focus ont he swords.
I plopped down alongside him. No, it's not any fun losing your home.
"And it's no fun losing your parents, is it?"
He looked at me. In one of those weird things that can only go on in dreams or movies, he realized the source of my empathy, understood where I came from, what I had seen, who I was... and that I wasn't going to stand by and let a young child be orphaned.
He started weeping. "I can't lose father again."
Honor is good to me. I would like to think that I could hold my cool and strenght of character when presented with something life threatening, again. I respect men who hold onto such integrity. But I wasn't going to let another child be deprived of home and family. But I wasn't eager to insult the honor of these two men, respected as they are.
I begna turning this around in my head, the boy still blubbering beside me. I looked over at one of these famous swords of his, and took it form it's sheath.
Damn thing was fake.
We both looked at each other.
He took one out - the flaming brand - and found that it's magical fire was nothing but an illusion, brought on by wind and reeds.
We looked at each other again. Was his father safe?
But then we remembered, the one weapon, the one leathal wepaon, was always on the young man's side! I quickly grabbed the boy up, and rushed outside-
And suddenly, I'm in front of my grandma's house. There is the boy. Musashi is nowhere to be seen. A cat is rubbing against my legs. I look down at the boy, then at the warrior. He is beaten and bloodied, and limps over to us.
"Lookin' for Musashi?" He asked. We gave a fervent nod in response.
A vague gesture behind hsi shoulder. "You just missed him."
And then I woke up. I could still smell the stink of the boy, that same stink that all kids seem to carry on them. I could still feel the cat by my legs. When I laid back down, I didn't fall back into sleep, as wa smy usual wont, but began to hear music. The ending of The Protomen's second album queued up in my mind, starting right from Emily's letter. That's how I knew that, yeah, this all probably had something to do with Megaman, hah.
So, that was my dream. If anyone really bothered reading, thank you for your patience. This dream felt terribly vivid, and I absolutely knew that I had to share it with someone, and was wonderfully surprised to find this thread here. Great idea of a thread, and am glad to have it.
These forums are great.