Authors Note: Final Fantasy Tactics is a trademark of Squaresoft, not me.
The soul of a samurai lies in his blade. The last words my father ever bestowed upon me, where not lessons in life, or words of love and encouragement, (heaven knows he was not the type of man to do that) but rather more teachings and philosophy into his true love in life, his class and heritage.
My father was raised in the same fashion that his father, and his father's father were raised, with strict discipline and never-ending training into the ways of the samurai. For centuries, my family's lineage has sworn fealty and service to the Emperor of Solstar, and the Makasa dynasty, as royal guards to the throne. Protecting the Emperor's dynasty from harm has been the honor and triumph of my family for so long, that many around the kingdom have deemed my blood as divine. God-chosen protectors for the noble Emperor, we have been blessed with wealth and admiration.
Yet I have never known this life. My childhood was not spent within the halls and passages of the Emperor's grand castle, catered by servants, and forged in the wake of awe and respect. No, my childhood was spent in the troughs with the pigs, filling their bellies with slop; before heading out to the fields of our farm, where half my day, from dawn to dusk, was spent working fields of grain and rice. Just to have my worn and tired body return to my father's work shed, where he'd assault my mind with reading and writing, and most importantly the teachings and doctrine of the samurai code. Once my senses were frayed thin from my schooling, only then would he allow me to train with him in those last twilight hours of the night, sword in hand since the age of five.
When then did my father's destiny change? When did my family's honor fall from grace and become stained with the fecal matter of pigs and cows; a little over two decades ago, just months after my birth, with the assassination of Hinreo Makasa, thirteenth Emperor of the Makasa dynasty.
Led astray from his post by a decoy assassin, the Emperor's protectors were overrun, and the Emperor's head rolled down the steps of the palace entrance. Accused of collaboration with the group responsible for the coup of the throne, my father was forced to flee from the palace by the last supporters of the Makasa dynasty, before the drooling babe in his arms suffered the same neck-slitting fate of his mother. Traveling south, to the outskirts of the kingdom, my father settled in the tiny rural community of Limberry, beginning his new career as farmer.
Though I never knew the exact details of my father's failure, (his shame was always to great to dwell further into the events) I knew that his accusations were lies. My father was a shining light in my life, raising me with skill and respect for earth and life. I have much admiration for that man. Yet he is gone now, slaughtered protecting me in our own farm.
I remember the night all too clearly, eight lifeless years ago. It's haunting presence will forever be a part of me, forever guiding me, forever forging me in the fires of revenge and hate. The glimpses of ancient blue samurai garb, blood-soaked sword in hand are burnt into my soul; the woeful slashes of the evil samurai's blade ripping into my father plague my dreams; and the tears of crimson from my father's blade soothing my engulfed being, continually grant me hope. My father's body became a shield of flesh and bone that night, and he saved my life. Using the last ounce of his strength, he called upon the spirit of his Heaven's Cloud and, my wounds were healed. With them my purpose was solidified. I will find my father's killer; I will avenge my father's death! I Jaynus Rino swear it!
The soul of a samurai lies in his blade. The last words my father ever bestowed upon me, where not lessons in life, or words of love and encouragement, (heaven knows he was not the type of man to do that) but rather more teachings and philosophy into his true love in life, his class and heritage.
My father was raised in the same fashion that his father, and his father's father were raised, with strict discipline and never-ending training into the ways of the samurai. For centuries, my family's lineage has sworn fealty and service to the Emperor of Solstar, and the Makasa dynasty, as royal guards to the throne. Protecting the Emperor's dynasty from harm has been the honor and triumph of my family for so long, that many around the kingdom have deemed my blood as divine. God-chosen protectors for the noble Emperor, we have been blessed with wealth and admiration.
Yet I have never known this life. My childhood was not spent within the halls and passages of the Emperor's grand castle, catered by servants, and forged in the wake of awe and respect. No, my childhood was spent in the troughs with the pigs, filling their bellies with slop; before heading out to the fields of our farm, where half my day, from dawn to dusk, was spent working fields of grain and rice. Just to have my worn and tired body return to my father's work shed, where he'd assault my mind with reading and writing, and most importantly the teachings and doctrine of the samurai code. Once my senses were frayed thin from my schooling, only then would he allow me to train with him in those last twilight hours of the night, sword in hand since the age of five.
When then did my father's destiny change? When did my family's honor fall from grace and become stained with the fecal matter of pigs and cows; a little over two decades ago, just months after my birth, with the assassination of Hinreo Makasa, thirteenth Emperor of the Makasa dynasty.
Led astray from his post by a decoy assassin, the Emperor's protectors were overrun, and the Emperor's head rolled down the steps of the palace entrance. Accused of collaboration with the group responsible for the coup of the throne, my father was forced to flee from the palace by the last supporters of the Makasa dynasty, before the drooling babe in his arms suffered the same neck-slitting fate of his mother. Traveling south, to the outskirts of the kingdom, my father settled in the tiny rural community of Limberry, beginning his new career as farmer.
Though I never knew the exact details of my father's failure, (his shame was always to great to dwell further into the events) I knew that his accusations were lies. My father was a shining light in my life, raising me with skill and respect for earth and life. I have much admiration for that man. Yet he is gone now, slaughtered protecting me in our own farm.
I remember the night all too clearly, eight lifeless years ago. It's haunting presence will forever be a part of me, forever guiding me, forever forging me in the fires of revenge and hate. The glimpses of ancient blue samurai garb, blood-soaked sword in hand are burnt into my soul; the woeful slashes of the evil samurai's blade ripping into my father plague my dreams; and the tears of crimson from my father's blade soothing my engulfed being, continually grant me hope. My father's body became a shield of flesh and bone that night, and he saved my life. Using the last ounce of his strength, he called upon the spirit of his Heaven's Cloud and, my wounds were healed. With them my purpose was solidified. I will find my father's killer; I will avenge my father's death! I Jaynus Rino swear it!
