Rokugan, nine months ago

The heavens opened up, and blood rained down.

The Crane lands were hit particularly hard. In a hundred open air gardens and courtyards, young and old alike were suddenly confronted with the horrors buried deep within their souls. Some were able to confront their inner demons and come to terms with themselves. Others were not. Of those who fell, many rose again and lashed out against their brothers and sisters, their souls claimed by the Bloodspeaker, Iuchiban. Cries of pain and anguish quickly turned to screams of pain, rage, and fear. In the city of Shizuka Toshi, the violence was particularly rampant.

Kumi completed her strike perfectly, just as she had been trained. She watched a thin ribbon of blood stain the tatami mat, matching the twin sets of bloody footprints that led to the door. She flicked her blade effortlessly and returned it to the saya, ignoring the twin thuds of her opponent’s body falling to the floor. Kumi closed her eyes, seeking peace and control. The man had been raving, a rabid froth streaming from his mouth as he screamed obscenities. In the corner of the room, a young woman sobbed quietly. When she had arrived, the man was leering over the woman, dagger in hand. Kumi did not hesitate, but shoved the man away and slew him.

“Are you all right?” she asked the woman, opening her eyes and looking over one shoulder. Her long white hair fell over one shoulder, still streaked and dripping red from the supernatural storm.

“Akinari,” she whimpered, sobbing as she stared at the dead man’s body.

“You knew him?” she asked.

The woman only continued sobbing, unwilling to speak. Kumi left the peasant to her confused grief. Her skin continued to burn slightly from the blood rain. A low buzzing filled her brain, encouraging her to punish the sobbing peasant woman for her ingratitude. Disgusted by her own thoughts, she brushed them aside and moved deeper into the castle, heading for the baths to cleanse the foul rain from her clothing and body.

She stepped carefully into the garden, watching the sky. The rain seemed to have ceased for the time being, though sludgy red puddles now marred the serene beauty. A dull thunder growled in the crimson sky. All was silent now, deathly silent. Kumi moved cautiously between the shadows of the garden. She did not even realize as she did so, her training fueling her instincts in such a strange and uncertain situation. She winced, nearly tripping over the body of a fallen guardsman.

Another guard sat in the mud a dozen feet away, clutching a broken spear and chuckling quietly to himself. The man’s face was twisted in a terrible mask of pain, smoke rising from his eyes and ears. A shugenja in pale blue robes, free from any mark of the storm, stood beside him. The guard looked up at the shugenja, his eyes shining with a pale green light. Kumi recognized the shugenja as Asahina Surodoi, a fellow traveler on the road through Shizuka Toshi.

“Why did I do it?” the man whispered. “Why did I kill Eisaku?”

“You did what you had to, my friend,” Surodoi said. “You did what was right.”

“I do not want this,” the guard said, staring in horror at his open hand, now glowing with a pale black energy. “I do not wish to serve this master.”

Surodoi sighed and took the shattered spear from the guard’s other hand. With a fierce, efficient movement he buried the weapon in the back of the man’s neck. The guard slumped forward on the ground, dead.

Kumi, about to step forward and announce herself to the Asahina, pulled deeper into the shadows. She frowned. It was obvious that the blood rain was corrupting some of those that it touched. Yet she had been caught in the storm was unaffected, and Surodoi seemed untouched yet was freely perpetrating hideous acts upon his kinsmen.

What was happening?

Kumi shifted her weight from one foot to another anxiously. She had thought perhaps to wait until the shugenja had turned away, then hurl herself at the smaller man. It would be a gamble, certainly, as there was no way to know what manner of supernatural power the man might possess. She might be throwing her life away to no good purpose. The burning sensation on Kumi’s skin began to return.

Yet if she did not act there was no way to know what further horrors this man might perpetrate. He might even be responsible for the rain of blood. Kumi could remain in hiding and live, but she could not live with honor knowing that she had done nothing. The heat on her skin faded, replaced by a cold feeling of righteous hatred toward Surodoi.

Kumi followed the traitor through the garden toward his private chamber, moving soundlessly through the halls of the castle. Surodoi paused at the door, turning to glance over his shoulder and insure he was not followed. A flash of lightning illuminated the corridor but did not reveal Kumi, crouching in the rafters above the murderous priest.

Just as Surodoi turned away, Kumi dropped to the floor. Her blade escaped her scabbard with a silent hiss, slicing across the shugenja’s back. Surodoi shrieked in pain and fear, scrambling away from his attacker. Kumi seized the man by the back of his robes and shoved him forward onto the floor, tearing away the pouch of sacred scrolls he used to work his magic and hurling them across the small bedchamber. The shugenja looked back at Kumi with horror.

“You are the ronin Daidoji,” Surodoi said with fear. “The Harrier who exiled herself.”

Kumi did not answer, only advanced with her sword drawn.

“Do not kill me,” Surodoi begged. “I can offer you power.”

“I want nothing from you,” Kumi replied. “You will die, but it is for you to choose how long that death will take. I want answers, murderer.”

“Murderer?” the man laughed, eyes gleaming in defiance. “We are killers both, you and I. At least I know why I kill. You do only what you are told!”

Kumi seized the man’s throat in her free hand, lifting his fallen body from the floor, displaying strength that belied her small build. “Then tell me why?” he demanded.

“I will tell you nothing,” he said.

Kumi frowned, glaring directly into the man’s eyes, and tightened her grip. The man flailed wildly, trying feebly to pull the Harrier’s fingers from his throat. His eyes bulged as he gasped for breath. Kumi waited nearly two minutes, ignoring Surodoi’s struggles, then let the man breathe again.

“Why?” she repeated.

“It was Iuchiban’s command,” Surodoi said desperately. “This storm is his. I am merely his agent. I confess I did not know what he planned until today. I knew only a ritual was to occur, and I was to be ready for the results.”

“What ritual?” Kumi asked. “Where?”

 “Somewhere on the Plains Above Evil,” he whimpered. “South of the Toritaka pass west of the Crab lands, I do not know more than that.” The shugenja’s face twisted into a sudden sneer. “I wish I could tell you more, ronin. I wish I could deliver you directly into the lair of my master. Then you, too, would know fear as you deserve. Rokugan does not deserve to be ruled by cowards who chain themselves with the trappings of honor.”

Kumi said nothing further. She let the man fall to the floor. Surodoi opened his mouth to spit another taunt, but Kumi ended it with a swift stroke of her sword.

The journey to the Plains Above Evil took longer than it might have under more pleasant circumstances. To Kumi’s surprise, the rain that had cursed Shizuka Toshi had not been limited in scope. Her travels had seen a dozen other cities and villages that had suffered that city had, some of which now lay in uninhabited ruins. The rain had long passed but red clouds still stained the skies wherever she traveled, a sinister reminder of the curse that had befallen Rokugan.

The wilderness was a far more dangerous place, with many of those corrupted by the rain wandering the wild like animals. Kumi had been forced to defend herself on many occasions. It was nothing new to her. For three years she had been on musha shugyo from her family, a solitary warrior’s pilgrimage. She was well used to living the life of a lone traveler, though of course this was much different.

Once she had been awakened in the dead of night by a trio of corrupted Crab samurai. They descended upon her makeshift camp, clad only in the shredded furs of some slain animal, attacking with bare fists. Had the men been in their right minds, Kumi had no doubt that she would not have survived. Had they been in their right minds, of course, they never would have attacked at all…

Travel was difficult for more reasons than such hazards, however. The countryside was swamped with magistrates and military units, all out in search of the mad souls who had fallen during the rain. Their vigilance was admirable, but Kumi had a suspicion that their means of determining who had been corrupted and who had not were hardly infallible. Some seized upon the chance to turn their suspicions against old enemies. The Crane had many enemies, and thus a lone warrior wandering the countryside needed to be cautious.

The Plains Above Evil adjoined the Shadowlands to the south and the Crab lands to the east. Though not corrupted like the Shadowlands, they were largely devoid of any life and had resisted all attempts at settlement. Some wandering Shadowlands beasts made homes in the area, seeking easier prey than their fellow monsters. The natural wildlife was likewise savage and unfriendly. No one had ever determined why this region so inhospitable to life, but few questioned it. For their part, the Crab were content to have a buffer zone that aided them in their defense of the Empire.

It took Kumi nearly four days to locate the pass Surodoi had described. The tiny path through the Twilight Mountains was named for the Toritaka, who had once comprised the Falcon Clan, but were long since absorbed into the Crab. It was a very narrow path that was good for little else than avoiding climbing the peaks directly. It served well enough for a single woman on horseback.

Surudoi’s directions had been vague, so Kumi could only hope for the best as she traveled south from the pass. Truthfully, she had no notion of what it was she sought or why it was she felt she might be able to do something about it. The rain had already done its damage. There was virtually no chance of discovering the culprits at this point, but the strange compulsion to investigate would not relent.

Four hours after departing the Toritaka Pass, Kumi noticed movement on the horizon. She instinctively sought cover behind a stone outcropping. A mass of small creatures seemed to be cavorting in the valley below, none taller than her thigh. At first, she thought they were perhaps goblins, but soon realized they were too varied in shape and size – minor oni, infant demons of the Shadowlands. They seemed to be dancing or perhaps fighting. It was difficult to tell at such a distance.

Kumi frowned and squinted, trying to make out details. It seemed that the beasts were standing around something that appeared to be the body of a dead horse, celebrating its demise. Somehow, though, the sight of if filled her heart with a strange, hopeless feeling that he could not explain.

Mindful of the danger, Kumi crept from her place of concealment and tried to move closer to the spectacle. She moved cautiously, darting from place to place only when she felt certain the oni were not looking in her direction. With each successive hiding place, she grew a little closer to her enemies. With each move, the shape on the ground came into closer focus. Kumi crouched behind a boulder and waited a few seconds, then peered around at the oni, and understood what it was she saw. The dead animal’s fur was a brilliant, fiery color. A single horn of pearl white extended from its forehead. Its dead, staring eyes shone a brilliant jade. This creature was the Ki-Rin, one of the most sacred creatures of the Celestial Heavens.

Again, as in Shizuka Toshi, she feared that she must remain hidden or be destroyed by her enemy. Again, she ignored her cowardly feelings. What good was her life if creatures such as these yet lived?

Shrieking with equal parts grief and rage, the Crane warrior emerged from her hiding place and charged the pack of minor oni. The beasts were completely caught off guard by her sudden appearance, and three had fallen to her blade before they could even react. They lashed out with pointed teeth and wicked claws, but Kumi ignored their attacks, carving a path of slaughter through their ranks. Within a matter of moments, she stood alone, surrounded by dead demons, her kimono torn and bloodied in over a dozen places. She did not notice her grievous injuries until she slumped to one knee, weak from loss of blood. Her katana dropped from her hand. She fell forward on the dead body of the Ki-Rin.

A flood of memories washed over the fallen Harrier. She remembered her childhood, a time of hope and wonder, when she looked forward to fighting for the glory of the Crane. She dreamed of her training in Shiro Giji, as she learned the necessary skills she would need to protect the clan she so loved. She remembered performing acts of sabotage and murder to protect the interests of her clan, casting aside her honor for the safety of thousands who would never know or appreciate what she had done. She felt anew the doubt that had caused her to turn her back on her family, to walk the path of a ronin for a time. Her teachers had been disappointed, but had allowed her to take the warrior’s pilgrimage so long as it did not interfere with their own duties.

Kumi found herself quietly weeping over the body of the Ki-Rin, stroking the creature’s silken mane with one hand. She saw that its throat had been slit; the Ki-Rin had been murdered in the wilderness and now she would die as well, unknown and unmourned, a ronin.

“You believe your honor is dead, Daidoji Kumi,” whispered a voice within her soul. “It lies buried, but waits to be reborn. Courage is all that is required for honor to be reborn.”

A warmth spread over Kumi’s body. The pain of her many wounds faded, and her strength returned. She passed into unconsciousness. When she awoke, the sun hung high in the sky, now clean of the blood red clouds that had marred it for so long. Her body was healed. The Ki-Rin’s corpse was gone, but a streak of fire marked the heavens. Kumi rose to her feet, one hand moving to tuck her katana into her obi. She looked down in surprise, noting the braided lock of fiery silken hair that now hung from her saya – a blessing from the Ki-Rin.

Kumi stared at the distant sky, uncertain how to react to all that had just happened. As the Ki-Rin’s words repeated themselves in her mind, she realized at last what she must do.

Climbing back into her saddle, Kumi began the long path back home to Shiro Daidoji.