With our recent expansion into the area formerly known as the Ivory Kingdoms, we are ushering in a new era of Rokugan. In these times of peace, the Samurai in the Colonies will need an outlet for their competitive nature, just as they do here in Rokugan. Therefore, the Divine Child, long may she reign, has decreed that there are to be tournaments held at the Governor’s Estate in the Second City, to find the Samurai most worthy of the task at hand. Throughout the year, there will be more tournaments held at the Governor’s Estate, just as there will be tournaments held here in Rokugan. The first of these tournaments shall be known as In the Shadow of Greatness.

It shall be the first of two tournaments held to celebrate this new era of prosperity. The second shall be held in Rokugan proper, and will discussed further on another day. All participants of the In the Shadow of Greatness tournament shall be given three stories of Folklore relating to the creatures you are having to fight in the wilderness of the colonies, which shall better prepare you for facing them in battle. Use this knowledge to destroy the enemies of the Empire and bring more glory to the Child of the Heavens. The winner of this tournament shall be awarded a new title, as described in the Imperial missive below.

Kakita Genshi
Crane Clan Master of Ceremonies

No man stands alone. Just as the Master Sensei of the Imperial Explorers makes decisions that impact the whole of the organization, he must depend upon skilled and loyal vassals to see his decisions implemented. For the Explorers to succeed in their mission and hold influence in such distant locations as the Second City and Kalani’s Landing, there must be strong leaders among their ranks.

The clan claiming the most victories in this Global Storyline Tournament will determine the clan affiliation of a prominent sensei working with the Imperial Explorers. Just as the Master Sensei holds sway over the group’s operations in the Second City and the surrounding environments, his vassal will coordinate their efforts along the southern coastline and in other such regions.

Citizens of Rokugan and the Colonies,

We’ve been blessed with the honor of hosting the 2012 World Championship in Barcelona, Spain, from the 12th to the 14th of October. We’d like to thank AEG for this opportunity and will give our best to create an event that will be written in the Ikoma Histories in golden ink.

A union of the Kotei TOs of Spain has been assembled for the occasion to offer the knowledge and experience of some of the greatest Kotei of all Europe. We’re TO’s, but we’re also players who really love this game and we’ll give the Community what the Community wants in a huge quantity: fun, games, and party!

The Championship will be held at the Auditorium of “Cotxeres de Sants”, an amazing and really big place at the Sants neighborhood, and 5 minutes walking from the train station that communicates directly with the Airport and the main national and international train lines.

Be prepared to live the Legendary Barcelona WC’2012 Experience!

Together we are stronger!

The Righteous

By Brian Yoon

Edited by Fred Wan

The Path of Air: The Peaceful

“The worthy can be found within the most devout,” Air said. “To truly venerate Air within mind and soul, the empathetic mortal must be able to change his beliefs to match the times.”

Asahina Shigemitsu ignored the unsettled whispers he could hear from the entrance of the small building. He approached the statue, a bronze representation of the Fortune of the West Wind. He knelt at its foot and closed his eyes. He whispered a prayer of thanks under his breath. He heard the soft replies in his ear as the air kami around him swirled around him.

            He smiled. The friendly kami always reminded him of the bigger picture. Despite the troubles of man, the world continued as it always did.

            “You are a long way from home, Asahina,” Yogo Adi said as she approached him. Her flat tone conveyed her disapproval and her contempt, yet somehow it was perfectly pitched to avoid any accusation of ill will. It was a wonderful expression of her mastery of the courtly techniques.

            “Adi-san,” Shigemitsu said in greeting. He rose to his feet. “This land was in the path of the Destroyers, was it not? You have done a wonderful job in restoring it to its former glory. I was here when I was just a boy, and I believe it looks better now than it did in my faded memory.”

            Adi’s cold eyes did not change, yet he could see that she no longer considered him a threat. “I suggest you finish your meditations and leave, Asahina Shigemitsu. This is no place for a Crane.”

            “I venerate the air kami, the same as you,” Shigemitsu countered. It did not surprise him in the least that the Scorpion seemed to know his identity.

            “Then I will let you finish your prayers in peace,” Adi said.

            “Adi-san, I have a proposal for your clan,” Shigemitsu added. He noted that she did not look surprised.

            “Then speak,” Adi replied brusquely.

            Shigemitsu made a grand gesture outside. “The Empress has allowed War among your clan and thePhoenix. War always becomes taxing on the land as battle rages. It will destroy hundreds, perhaps even thousands of koku worth of rice. I would divert some of the resources available to me to help you harvest it before it is ruined forever.”

            Adi studied him without a word. “The Crane mean to choose sides in the war?” she whispered.

            “No,” Shigemitsu hastily answered. “I do not speak as a representative of the Crane Clan, only as a minor governor of Asahina lands. I plan on making the same offer to thePhoenixonce my affairs here are finished.”

            “Why?” Adi asked.

            Shigemitsu raised both hands, palm up, toward her. “All of us have suffered greatly in recent years, Adi-san. From what I have heard, the Empress has approved the war. Despite the legality of the war, I cannot help but wonder at the damage it will cause to both your clans. Our Empire is still weak. I want to help return it to its former strength, and helping you satisfy your honor while protecting your future seems to be the best way to ensure it.”

            Adi did not answer and looked away at the statues around her. Several minutes passed in silence. “I will ask my superiors, Shigemitsu-san,” she finally said and bowed.

            Shigemitsu bowed deeply. It was the best answer he could have received. He quickly gave his polite goodbyes and made his exit.

            As he left, his eyes caught sight of a strange white haired man staring at him with a strange expression on his face. He had the strangest desire to stop and speak to the man. He moved onward. He had many miles to cross before he could speak to thePhoenix.

            He had never considered working with the Scorpion before, yet the times called for adaptation to survive. He was buoyed by his success. His feet barely touched the ground as he exited the temple grounds.

The Path of Water: The Innovative Duelist

“The Element of Water values strength, whether it is presented in strength of character or strength of might. That strength must be able to adapt quickly to changes that the mortal must face.”

            Fire lowered its head and stared at Ningen-do. “Rokugan is a land of tradition. The samurai would perform the same duties as his grandfather, in the exact same way.”

            “Yes,” Water agreed. “This dogmatic response is both Rokugan’s strength and weakness. The one who would hold the blessing of Water would need to honor the old ways and forge his own. This man seems fit for the task.”

“It is time, Mirumoto Houken.”

            Houken bounced to his feet and made his way to the front of the dojo with as much dignity as he could muster. It wasn’t much. He had been waiting for this moment his entire life. In a few moments, he would know if his dreams would become reality, or if his skills were truly unfit for the task. He knelt before the grandmasters of theMirumotoSwordmasterSchooland touched his forehead to the tatami mat.

            “I thank you for the opportunity, respected swordmasters,” he said, his head still bowed.

            “Rise, Houken,” Mirumoto Satobe said. Houken raised his head.

            “Your request is an unorthodox one,” Satobe continued. “Generally, the teachers of this school choose those who they personally perceive to be worthy. However, you have been stationed away from our lands for many years.”

            “Yes, Satobe-sama,” Houken said. “I served as yojimbo to our ambassadors in thePhoenixlands. I am glad to have served our clansmen, but I regret the time I spent away from our homeland. I was not able to revisit my dojo for many years. In their stead, I practiced for hundreds of hours in refining my personal style and hammering out any weaknesses in my swordsmanship.”

            Satobe turned to his side and gestured one of his old sensei forward. “Sanji-san tells me that you have not fully mastered every aspect of the Mirumoto style. Do you believe you are ready to switch your focus, when you have so much left to learn?”

            Houken paused for a moment before answering. He met the sensei’s eyes. “Yes, I believe I am ready.”

            “It is a peculiar situation,” Satobe mused out loud. “Kitsuki Jairi-san spoke highly of your skill with the blade. His recommendation has brought you this far. However, the word of outsiders will not grant you our approval.”

            Houken could not hide the surprise from his face. The cantankerous old man had never spoken a word of encouragement through the years they were inPhoenixlands. Houken remembered many nights where he had stolen off to practice his forms. Jairi had only shaken his head.

            “I will do anything to prove myself worthy,” Houken said.

            Satobe raised an eyebrow. “You are quite eager to place your neck on the chopping block, Houken. I appreciate your bravery. I was once a foolhardy young man, myself.”

            The teacher pushed himself up on his walking stick and rose to his feet. “Our Crane rivals have an interesting method of determining the worth of a potential applicant to their duelist school. We shall adopt it today. Defeat me in a duel of kenjutsu, and I will personally write your name among the scroll of students at theMirumotoSwordmasterSchool.”

            Houken bowed deeply once more. He wanted to shout out his thanks, but his voice would not come. His heart was already pounding in his throat, and the sound of his rushing blood drummed a staccato in his ears.      

Houken chose a pair of hard wooden bokken, practice swords that held the shape and weight of his trusted daisho. He placed the hilts in his belt and approached the center of the room. He could see dozens of people in the corners of his eyes. The news of the unique proceedings had spread across the school like wildfire, and it seemed that every duelist in the city had come to watch him try his best against a sensei.

            He waited and tried to calm his mind as Mirumoto Satobe prepared himself for the duel. He tried to remember everything he knew about the older sensei. Satobe had never been a prodigy of the blade. He had earned his position through perseverance and tenacity. He had suffered countless injuries on the battlefield – he walked with a limp, a permanent reminder of the Destroyer War. Satobe had never let the injuries slow him down.

            Satobe made his way to the center of the room and readied himself six feet in front of Houken. The sensei bowed at his waist. Houken repeated the gesture. The staccato of blood in his ears had turned into an incessant roar. He could hear nothing else.

            Houken drew in a deep breath and held it. He drew his blades and adopted the traditional Mirumoto dual wielding stance. He let out his breath and released his anxieties away with the air. His heart slowed and his eyes focused. He was ready.

            His opponent had adopted a similar stance across from him. His wakizashi moved slowly in the air, lazily tracing some design in front of it. Houken knew that Satobe was simply watching for some sort of tell that would give away Houken’s method of attack.

            He decided to make the first move.

            He feinted to the right and struck with his off-hand – it was a weak opening, but its unlikelihood was its greatest strength. Satobe moved his blades slightly and deflected the strike with ease. The sensei stepped forward and struck with both blades in response. It was a heavy handed attack designed to break his defense. Houken stepped back and barely avoided the blow.

            The dance continued. Houken tried every approach he knew to get a solid blow on Satobe, yet the warrior calmly countered each strike and struck back with a simple yet powerful blow. It did not matter that Satobe’s movement was hindered by his old injuries. He approached with infuriating patience each time Houken danced away. He blocked Houken’s escape with the slightest changes in his movement and constantly moved forward.

            Houken could feel the wood of the dojo wall against his back. He had nowhere else to dodge. His next attack needed to end the duel, or his dream of joining the most prestigious duelists in his Clan would be over. He met Satobe’s eyes and leapt forward.

            His last attack mirrored his first. He feinted to the right and his shortened bokken slashed toward Satobe’s katana. His opponent raised his sword to block the desperate attack. As the two blades clashed, Houken released his grip on the bokken and lowered his hand. As the sword spun in midair, Houken grabbed the end of his sheath with his left hand and slid it out of his belt. He struck down with the blade in his right hand, and slashed upward with the wooden saya.

            A loud crack rang through the air.

            The sheath splintered into two and fell to the floor.

            Satobe clutched his stomach and fell to one knee. He grimaced and used his bokken to lift himself back to his feet.

            “You let go of your blade,” Satobe said after he regained his breath.

            “I needed to break your guard,” Houken said. “I taught myself to use my steel saya in battle as well. Mirumoto always taught us to use both hands to give us an advantage over our opponents who only use one sword. I figured my philosophy was in the spirit of his teaching, Satobe-sama.”

            Satobe winced in pain then smiled. “It caught me by surprise. I do not know if it is useful on the battlefield, but I look forward to seeing the results. You are indeed worthy to carry on our legacy, Houken-san. Congratulations.”

            Triumph washed over his mind but a strange sensation quickly overrode it. It seemed to be a wave of strength – and somehow, of approval.

The Path of Earth: The Eternal Struggle

            Fire broke the silence with the obvious. “He is an abomination to nature.”

            “He was born with the touch of Jigoku,” Earth replied. “The evil seed has grown within his soul, yet he has not succumbed to its effects. He is among the last of those who bear the burdens of the Shadowlands against his will.”

            “The touch of Jigoku is absolute,” Fire said firmly. “Mortals cannot overcome its evil. You waste your blessing on one who is doomed to fail.”

The others called it the Riddle, yet the playful title had never made sense to him. The conversation began with a great challenge, as they always did. Asako Rikate sat with his legs folded under him and stretched out to the kami that surrounded all things. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. These rituals helped soothe his mind and helped him connect with the elements. His companions that learned the Henshin ways with him had always described speaking to the kami as a flow of friendly riddling, yet it had never been so easy for him. The elements seemed to treat him with a small degree of wariness.

            The difficulty had never discouraged him. This was his Path in life, and he would follow it despite the difficulties in his way.

            The meditation began to settle in the core of his very being. His breathing slowed to a crawl, and his mind became empty of all stray thoughts. What remained were the thoughts of supplication. The moments of silent peace stretched out without any response from the nearby kami. An hour passed.

            Finally, a single kami of Earth raised its attention and spoke to him. It was deliberate and curt, as Earth kami tended to be. Speak, human-

            Rikate could not suppress a quick grin of triumph. “I am Asako Rikate and I am your humble servant.”

            The Earth did not respond. Finally, its response rumbled through his mind. You are different from the others-

            This, too, was the usual continuation of the conversation. “Each human is distinct from all others, esteemed kami. I have dedicated my life to your service.”

            The Earth kami seemed to mull over the response. You are flawed-

            Rikate blinked. This was a new wrinkle in the initial stages of the conversation. “I am only mortal, but I am eager to change to better venerate you.”

            Impossible, it is beyond your reach-

            A bead of sweat trickled over his eye. He hurriedly wiped it away and focused again on the conversation. “Please, show me my failings,” he begged. “I would know my own faults so that I may address them.”

            There was another pause of heavy deliberation. Very well-

            Power surged all around him as the Earth kami called forth others of its ilk. Rikate could barely see the convergence of power as it formed intricate patterns around him. He was no shugenja; he could not importune the kami, nor could he see the weaves of spellcraft around him. Still, this feeling was unmistakable. The kami of the Earth were forming a spell directly on him. He unclenched his hands and spread them in front of him.

            The power suddenly rushed into him with a flash of green light. It flowed over him and through him. He could feel the purity of the beam as a flame all around him. It grew more intense by each growing moment. It was unrelenting, painfully digging into his soul with merciless determination. He had never felt such intense pain in his life.

            He screamed and blacked out.

            He did not know if minutes or hours passed before he regained consciousness, but the same Earth kami patiently waited for him.

            You are impure-

            And it was gone.

He could not organize his thoughts despite all the years of intense training. They bounced around every corner of his mind with no rhyme or sense. He welcomed the chaos, for once. He had learned too much from the wise Earth kami for him to enter meditation. Viewed from this different light, past events suddenly made sense.

            He was corrupted by the Shadowlands Taint. The power of Jade had scorched him. He had never been subject to the spell before, as no one had even suspected the possibility that he could be affected. He had never ventured out of his homeland and his parents had never spoken of the possibility. It seemed an important distinction to make to a child, that his life could be overthrown by the insidious truth.

            Now that he had become aware of his condition, he could hear the tempting whispers of the Shadowlands in the back of his mind. Endless power, it promised. Eternal knowledge. No one needs to know, and your weakness will become your strength.

            He tried to ignore the voice. Two questions emerged from the self-pity and asserted itself at the forefront of his thoughts. ‘What have I become? What do I do now?’  The kami would always view him with suspicion, no matter how much dedication he placed into the Henshin arts. His entire life had no purpose.

            Rikate shook his head. This was not the time to despair.

            He closed his eyes and began to enter the state of meditation. In the void the answers came to him, as they always did. Perhaps it was his childhood stubbornness rearing its head, or perhaps it was his years of training as a monk. It did not matter.

            Perhaps he was Shadowlands Tainted, and perhaps he had always been corrupted from his birth. It did not matter. He was still Asako Rikate, monk of the Phoenix Clan. He would not give in. He would continue to learn the Henshin arts and meditation techniques that might help defend his soul. He would not give the Shadowlands a foothold into the mortal realm through him.

            And before the Shadowlands conquered his soul, he would surrender himself to the Inquisitors for judgment. It was unavoidable, but he would serve the will of Tengoku for as long as he had strength to resist.

            A wave of strength flooded him as he came to his decision. The never-ending dark whispers in the back of his mind stopped, and the tiny aches across his body faded away.

            His debilitating sense of isolation faded for the first time since his rude awakening.

The Path of Void: The Contrary

            “He is irreverent. Foul. Crude. He cannot follow the rules mortals create for themselves. What makes him worthy for your blessing?” Fire asked.

            “He may never turn away from his dark desires,” Void admitted. “However, with my guidance he may shape his excesses in positive methods.”

The door to the Dancing Carp slid open with an ear-splitting racket and immediately shattered the joyous environment within the sake house. A group of dirty ronin swaggered inside, exuding an aura of danger and discontent. Many customers hurriedly drained their cups and disappeared from the main room. Others quickly lowered their eyes and kept their heads low. The Dancing Carp had a reputation for shady business, and clearly, this was none of theirs.

            The leader of the band was a large man with thick arms and stout belly. His countenance was marred by scars that crisscrossed every which way across his face. His mouth turned downwards in a perpetual scowl. His eyes were the most remarkable shade of blue, so light they seemed devoid of color. He quickly found the target of his ire, a young man dressed in fine blue silk, and stomped his way to the Yasuki’s table. The Yasuki kept his focus on his work, despite the shadow crossing over the scrolls sprawled across every inch of the table.

            “The job is done, Tsujiken. Why do you force me to make this request, like some common beggar?” the ronin snarled. Many of the customers who had stayed began to lose their nerve and they hurried out the door.

            Yasuki Tsujiken did not look up. He continued to shuffle through his scrolls with an affected air of disinterest.

            “We were promised two and a third for each of us,” the ronin continued as he shook with anger. “You gave us for one and a half for every member of our gang! That is unacceptable!”

            “It is both acceptable and fair, Tooth,” Tsujiken responded. “In fact —”

            The ronin leader interrupted with an ear-shattering bellow. “My name is Golden Fang, Yasuki! Do not insult me!”

            Tsujiken spoke over the large man’s interjections. “Your reward is equal to the performance you gave. You nearly gave away the ruse every step of the way. If I were a ruthless man, I would have tossed you out of my building without a second thought. Lucky for you, I am a man of my word. You may keep your winnings and count our account paid.”

            Golden Fang growled unintelligibly and placed his left hand on the tip of his sword’s hilt. The room reacted at once. The customers scattered around the room immediately rose to their feet and whirled to surround the ronin gang. Their hands were already grasping various deadly weapons. The determination in Golden Fang’s eyes faded into uncertainty as he realized the gravity of his situation. He shifted his feet and spoke again, his words much calmer than before.

            “Y-you wanted the shipment stolen from the building,” Fang said. “My men did that. What does it matter that some of the details didn’t go as planned?”

            Tsujiken finally looked up from his papers. He shook his head in disgust. “You managed to bungle the exact detail I needed most. I ordered you to break into the Mantis compound at the very specific time so you could avoid causing casualties. These Mantis warriors were in Crab lands. It is no fault of our own if their items get stolen from their own building. A bandit attack assaulting the village? That is another matter altogether. They were guests in our lands, and their deaths reflect poorly on us.”

            “Ordered?” Fang repeated. His fury began to bubble through his calm facade. “You do not order me, Tsujiken. No one orders my group.”

            Tsujiken stood up and began to walk away toward the exit. “My apologies for the mistake, Golden Fang. I will never do it again.”

            “Do not walk away from me, Tsuji—” Fang started to say. He stepped forward and immediately stopped. A large Crab warrior, in full battle armor, stepped into the room from the exit and barred their path to the Yasuki.

            “What shall we do with them, Tsujiken-sama?” the giant Hida asked him.

            Tsujiken paused at the doorway. “They are criminals who confessed to a crime against our business partners,” he responded. “Execute them, then give their heads to the Mantis as proof we have dealt justice.”

            Swords left sheaths. The battle began. The door slid closed, and the sounds of mayhem and death were soon replaced by the sounds of the thriving night life in the busy city.

He was walking along the river bank toward the gambling den when everything in the world stopped.

            His foot was still descending toward the ground, yet it would only move an inch at a time. Sounds faded away. Color drained from the world around him, leaving only a distressing collage of greys and blacks. He could feel the air echo in his ears as his breath drew in. He slowly exhaled, and he was suddenly elsewhere.

            Golden Fang rode into the village through the main road at the head of dozens of well-armed ronin warriors. The murdered bandit leader laughed maniacally as his katana slashed across the throat of a hapless villager who dared to stand in his way. He gestured lazily toward the Mantis complex and his followers rushed the building. The sounds of slaughter soon ensued.

            Fang’s gang rode out of the village, their saddlebags filled to the brim. The last ronin turned and threw a lit torch on the nearest building. The fire raged and flared immediately. Golden Fang bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile, and then they were gone.

            The entire attack had taken less than half an hour, yet the village had turned into a broken shell in the wake of Golden Fang.

            When he had ordered the attack, Tsujiken had known that bandits would be difficult to control. At best, he had hoped for less than a dozen unmerited casualties and less than one hundred koku in collateral damage. He had seen the carnage only as a necessary evil of working with unscrupulous men. They were only peasants, after all. It was hard to hold that position when he could watch the chaos left behind in the gang’s wake.

            The world melted in front of him once more. When the world became real once more, he found himself standing in a crowd. Dozens of ronin around him stood enthralled as a brutishly large woman orated in front of them. Her feverish words had the pitch of fanaticism to them. They spoke of revolution and mayhem across the land. It was madness. No one could dream of causing so much mayhem without catching the attention of Rokugan’s great armies. However, such a maddened crusade would slaughter thousands of innocents before it ground to a bloody halt.

            It was madness, yet the ronin gathering did not seem to see the folly in the plan. They would die to keep her happy.

            As she spoke, the bandit leader met the eye of every man in the crowd. Tsujiken’s breath caught in his throat when her hauntingly familiar eyes met his. He knew with a strange conviction that this woman was the daughter of Golden Fang.

            He threw up in the alley. He had fallen to his knees without even noticing it.

            “Damn it,” Tsujiken growled. “I do everything for the good of the Crab Clan. What I do is crucial.”

            The mantra had always stiffened his resolve in earlier times of distress. Now the words seemed meaningless.

            He rose to his feet and immediately turned around. It was too late to undo the damage he had unintentionally caused, but perhaps he still had time to avert the tragedies in his deadly vision.

“Do you understand?” Void asked. Fire refused to answer.

            “He is the perfect embodiment of Void,” Void continued. “He is a contradiction that cannot be explained. His logic is perfect yet remains illogical. He is uniquely human, and more importantly, uniquely mortal.”

            “I do not know if he will enjoy your blessing, Void,” Air said.

            Void looked out at the mortal again as he talked animatedly with his guards. He began to radiate a sense of amusement, and it was all the answer needed.

Discuss the events of this fiction in our Story Forum!

The time for this tournament has come. This weekend – on January 21st – players in Australia will get the chance to impact the story of Legend of the Five Rings with John Zinser – CEO of AEG – in attendance! Come celebrate L5R Down Under with him during this special charity tournament!

Favored of the Celestial Dragon
A Special Charity Tournament for Legend of the Five Rings CCG

 In the aftermath of the Destroyer War, the stability and the benevolence of the Empire of Rokugan under the rule of the Divine Empress Iweko I has returned the favor of the Celestial Heavens to the mortal realm. Once wrathful and conflicted, the great Elemental Dragons now look upon mankind with interest and appreciation, and find their works pleasing to the divine eye. A handful among men will be chosen and found worthy of the dragons’ favor, and these men will possess blessings such as few in Rokugan have ever known.

The winner of this Tournament will create an Emperor Edition legal personality of the faction he played at the tournament (with Story and Design approval). This personality will, in one manner or another, attract the attention of the Celestial Dragon and be granted that his favor.

The Celestial Dragon is the one that holds the Heavens aloft.
He is the guardian of the path of Immortality.
He is the messenger between Ningen Do and Tengoku.

He will for the first time interfere directly in human affairs  and his favor will manifest in different ways depending upon the strengths of the winning clan, but the Personality will gain significant power in the process, and grow to be a figure of great renown in their generation.

Daniel Briscoe
L5R Events Manager

Worthy

By Robert Denton

Edited by Fred Wan

The wind swept up the last tortured breath of the fallen man, adding his voice to its own. If he uttered any last words, they were forever lost, devoured by the howl of the wind. One figure stood triumphant at the center of the clearing. Beyond, the spinning wall of wind stripped the gray branches of their brittle leaves. She left the dead man’s blood on Mukizo’s steel tongue, allowing it to savor this moment of victory, if only because she could not.  She didn’t feel anything anymore.

Except for hatred. That still remained, even long after she’d willingly abstained from the use of the taint, lest gaijin forces consume her completely. It remained even after the ascension of her dark lord; on that day, she’d tried to use her dark blessings, but none were forthcoming. Perhaps they’d grown weak from disuse, like the withered arm of crippled man. Or perhaps her lord, from his new throne in Jigoku, had decided that she was unworthy.

But Mukizo was still strong. The taint within that blade had guided her through the wilderness all these long years, its voice growing stronger with each passing day. It led her to this small forested island, where it blackened the grass, stripped the trees, and shackled the wind to her will. Her power had waned, perhaps, but the sword’s power was still strong. The bodies strewn throughout the island, some skeletal with time, were a testament to that.

She would prove that she was still worthy. She still had her title, and there were many that coveted it. They would come to her, one by one, seeking that in her death, and she would meet them without hesitation. Only the tainted could hear the sword’s call as it spread through the lands. They were drawn like moths to flame, and like moths to flame they were each immolated, consumed both by Mukizo’s strength and her anger.  One day, a warrior would finally come that could slay her, and on that day she would stand by her dark lord’s side once again. But that day had not come yet. Still, Hotako was ready.

Enemy dispatched, victory achieved, she fell back into her dark kata. Mukizo, still dripping with blood, swung and cut the air hungrily. Herkamaspun in her opposing hand. Together, they stirred the air, spun the wind like spider’s thread. She moved with the dark grace of dancing shadow. Her steps lifted the curled husks of fallen leaves as the wind rumbled at her wordless command. Her kata renewed the whirlwind’s spin and invoked the sound of the wind. It spread, cold and loud, from the clearing and through the empty trees, between the stalks of dead grass and to the water’s edge. There were voices in that wind. The scattered leaves were their tongues, the brittle clatter of the branches were its song, the wind its very breath.

“I am Mukizo,” it said, “the sword that drank an Emperor’s blood.”

The voices were in the crash of the waves that brought the words to the shore beyond the island. They were in the wind that spread the words throughout night-cloaked lands. They seeped into the dreams of those tainted warriors that slept in secret amongst the populace. They were echoed in the whispers of the hidden remnants of the Lost, spoken in tea houses, dojos, courts great and minor, all shadowed places both obscure and in plain sight. Dark samurai repeated them, felt the kata-borne breeze, tasted its temptations, and looked to the south.

“I am the sword of the Obsidian Champion,” it said. “Heirloom of the Chuda, breaker of steel, a blade of traitors. I rest in the hand of my mistress. If you are worthy, seek me. Defeat my mistress and claim me. Grasp true power and become one with Obsidian, a Sentinel of Chuda. If you are worthy.”

            The clearing thundered with the deafening wind, the crack of splitting wood, and the crash of the shore. Daigotsu Hotako dragged her twisted kama-blade against Mukizo’s steel. The voices howled, here and hundreds of miles away. “Come!” they challenged. “Come and get me!”

* * * * *

Traditionally, achieving the station of Ruby Champion would mark of the end of a Magistrate’s career. The Ruby Champion was the sensei for Emerald Magistrates, after all, bestowing personal techniques and molding the minds and methods of an entire generation of Magistrates. In many subtle ways, the Ruby Champion decided the policy of future magistrates, occasionally acting as the liaison between the Emerald and Jade branches. It was the second-most coveted position in the entire Empire amongst those who enforced order. However, once achieved, there was nowhere else to go. The Ruby Champion traditionally remained within the dojo; gone were the days of tracking criminals, of accumulating testimony, and the rare thrill of the chase. Outstanding cases would be passed on to promising minds, and the Ruby Champion would retire from the field, oftentimes young, and content himself with instruction and self-contemplation.

This never sat well with Tsuruchi Nobukatsu. The role of the sensei was an honored one. It was all-important, a duty that could never be set aside. Still, what good were time-honed tracking skills that were never tested, keen eyes that never laid sight upon a crime scene, experience never wielded for the honor of the Empress? Surely the Ruby Champion could be a sensei and an active magistrate in his own right?

When he’d uttered these things, his friends had humored him. “Perhaps when you are Ruby Champion one day,” they’d joked, “you can implement such bold changes!”

Nobukatsu smiled as he exhaled the sweet kizami smoke from his kiseru. When Yasuki Miliko bestowed the Ruby Championship on him, over all of his peers, he did exactly as they had predicted. After all, wasn’t Yasuki Miliko active in the Destroyer War during her time as Ruby Champion? Perhaps he should honor her example.

Besides, he reasoned, frowning at the map before him, there were things that could not be adequately taught in the dojo. For instance, his famed techniques for hunting men, the very reason he was chosen and the thing he was expected to impart upon the new generations of magistrates. Words and gestures could never be enough. There was too much nuance to his work, too subtle and mutable to be demonstrated in controlled settings. Men were unpredictable prey, but there were patterns one could watch for, things that could not be reproduced in a dojo. His students had to learn “in the field,” to see the techniques demonstrated firsthand and hone their skills against live targets.

And of course, if this meant he had to spend much of his time in the field of duty instead of the dojo, well… then that could not be helped. After all, these students were unworked bars of iron waiting to be forged into blades, and one did not work wrought iron over cold coals. One sought fire.

And one had found fire. A rumor, really, but one grave enough to investigate. A magistrate had captured a tainted Spider warrior who had remained behind, thinking it fit to disobey the command of Heaven. The magistrate had shown him the error in his thinking, and during the following interrogation, something interesting had slipped out. This claim was then investigated on its own merit, rippling through the shadowed network of contacts the Emerald Magistrates had maintained over the course of centuries. Saibankan’s Net had pulled something more concrete from these shadowy waters: a challenge from the south, and a name. It was the last case on the former Ruby Champion’s desk before she severed her topknot and retired to the monasteries of her family’s ancestors. Her last unfinished case became his first, and he intended to finish it.

The Emerald Magistrates could not follow their leads. The trail was cold, and there was no way for them to find the source of the challenge. They believed that they had little choice but to wait for something else to surface, something they could follow. They could hardly be blamed; they didn’t have Nobukatsu’s methods, nor the training of a Tsuruchi bounty hunter amongst their leadership. Once that changed, the trail became quite clear. Nobukatsu followed it south, bringing his students with him. It was the perfect chance to demonstrate the techniques by which the obscure could be seen and the hidden could be found.

Those were not the only reasons he had for his personal involvement in the matter, however. The name in the possession of the Magistrates was Daigotsu Hotako, a woman their contacts called the “Obsidian Champion.” In addition to existing crimes, she was a tainted warrior living in the Empire, which could not be tolerated. Even though he didn’t know what her title meant, Nobukatsu knew her by another name, as did all Mantis. He knew her as Yoritomo Hotako, former crew of the Spoils of War and dark stain upon the honor of the clan. This he kept to himself; it was a matter of honor and of no concern to others. It was a rare thing when one’s duties to two masters overlapped into the same goal, and he wasn’t about to ruin that by talking about it.

A frustrated slam on the table stole him from his introspection. Nobukatsu lazily looked up from the map at his students. They were still arguing. He sighed again and no one noticed his displeasure. It seemed the argument was over how to approach the island on the map, where they’d finally tracked the tainted woman. Originally, the concern was that she would flee, but since they’d arrived and remained hidden within the quiet fishing community, the magistrates had witnessed a steady stream of ronin challengers passing through the village, taking small sampans to the island, and not returning. One after the next these challengers went to their doom. It was like something was calling to them.

His students were convinced that they could wait no longer. She had to be brought to justice. Some even feared that she was gathering an army, but others dismissed this as preposterous. Nobukatsu suspected their urgency was as much cabin fever from their self-imposed reclusion within the teahouse walls as it was a desire to see an end to this threat to the Empire. A part of Nobukatsu agreed with haste, the part that could not permit a stain upon the Mantis to survive, nor a criminal free reign to do as she pleased. But he also knew that she wasn’t going anywhere, and thus they had time to wait for the right moment to strike. That moment had not come for the last two weeks, two weeks of waiting, plotting, and watching tainted ronin march to their deaths. At least, in that time, she was doing much to purge the Empire of its tainted denizens, in her own way.

“Any way we approach the island, she will see us coming!” his youngest student announced. He was already well into adulthood, an accomplished magistrate before his promotion into his current position. “We should attack under cover of darkness.”

“Daylight is our one advantage,” a woman countered. “You would sacrifice that for nothing?”

He sneered. “You have not offered one suggestion yet! At least I am trying!”

And the argument continued. Nobukatsu tapped his cheek. Maybe he should say something…

But in truth, he was finding it hard to pay attention to his arguing students. There was a man sitting on the far end of the otherwise unoccupied room, his tea untouched on the table before him. A wide-brimmed straw hat covered his features, but Nobukatsu knew the man was watching them. He was probably listening as well. The Ruby Champion mirrored the actions of this man, threading his fingers together and appearing to be weighing the words of his students. He watched carefully with the periphery of his vision until the man finally stood from his table, unnoticed by the students, and walked out.

Nobukatsu nodded to himself. The man was listening to them after all. He’d heard whatever he needed to hear and was now making for the island. Nobukatsu stood, silencing the students abruptly.

“Heed your surroundings,” he said, donning his own straw hat, “and solutions to your problems will present themselves.”

He left them in stunned silence. Passing through the door into the cold night, Nobukatsu quickly spotted the man as he approached the shoreline, making for one of the many sampans on the beach. The island, tiny in the distance, was nonetheless visible on the horizon beyond, thanks to the stare of the moon above.

“Hold on,” Nobukatsu called out. The man halted, keeping his back to the Ruby Champion. The mon of the Ikoma stared at him from the man’s back.

“Identify yourself,” said Nobukatsu. He didn’t adopt a demanding tone; he left his voice calm and nonchalant. The light from the teahouse behind him threw his shadow over the man like a vast net. The man turned and looked at him.

The reply came with equal calm. “I am Ikoma Ayumu,” he said. Donned in sandy browns and oranges, the man wore incomplete scraps of armor over his kimono, his daisho firmly tucked into his obi. The gaze of the Ruby Champion narrowed upon him.

After several long moments of silence, Nobukatsu spoke again. “I know what you’re intending to do,” he said, in the tone of one offering friendly advice. “You’re not the first. I’ve seen countless men pass through this village to that island. That’s where you are headed, right?”

Ayumu did not reply. He stared, face serious.

“I should arrest you,” Nobukatsu continued, “but I recognize that mon on your shoulder. You served in the Destroyer War.”

The Ikoma nodded. “Hai.”

“So did my brother,” Nobukatsu smiled. “It is out of respect for this that I offer you some advice. Go home. This is a matter for the Emerald Magistrates alone.”

After several long moments, Ayumu turned in Nobukatsu’s shadow to fully face the Ruby Champion. “With all due respect,” he replied, “this is a matter of honor.”

Nobukatsu’s gaze turned to Ayumu’s left sleeve. It was cut long, but after a moment he realized it was empty. He saw that the Lion’s left sode was damaged on the shoulder, that he was slightly curled to his left, as if compensating for a grievous loss. The loss of his arm.

A matter of honor, the Lion had said. Nobukatsu nodded with understanding. It occurred to him, in that moment, that only the tainted could hear the call of this “Obsidian Champion” on that island, and that would be reason enough to subdue the man. Perhaps the prudent thing would have been to do this, to question him and gain more insight on his enemy. But the Ruby Champion’s one vice was that he was a gambler, and the fact that this always paid off only encouraged this behavior. His practiced mind measured the odds and came up with a plan.

He reached into his sleeve and drew out a drawstring bag, unwinding it and fishing out a pinch of tangled kizami for his pipe. “I would never stand in the way of honor,” he said, packing it into the mouth of the kiseru. “Of course, you cannot possibly win. A man in your condition would be dispatched rather easily.”

His words did not seem to affect Ayumu. The magistrate lit his pipe with a flint and steel device he produced from his sleeve, tucking it back again as he drew deeply on the kiseru. “The style that woman adopts is one I am familiar with,” he continued. “She fights with two weapons, becoming a storm of death. She will strike twice, first to disable, then to kill. Aiming for an arm, the neck, or perhaps an organ… she robs her opponent of the chance to fight back. If she perceives weakness, that is where she strikes. And the second one ends it.” Nobukatsu shrugged. “Even a complete man has no defense. There is no stopping the attack, and it cannot be deflected, nor dodged. It can only be absorbed, which naturally means certain death.”

“Of course,” he held out a hand, “I know that I cannot dissuade you. You have until the morning. If fortune favors you somehow, and you are able to defeat her…” He paused, lifting the pipe from his lips and meeting the man in the eyes, “if you were to recover her blades and bring them to me, I would be forever grateful.”

The Lion nodded, then bowed deeply. “Arigato,” he said. Then, he turned and continued his walk, making his way to the beach and the small boats that rocked there.

Nobukatsu watched him for some time. Until morning, he’d said. That was how long he gave the man to redeem himself. It was a lie, of course. He’d give this Ayumu a head start, then he would order his students to arm themselves and they’d follow him to the island. He would serve as an adequate distraction while the magistrates did their work.

The Ruby Champion smiled. He’d lied to the Lion, perhaps. But Nobukatsu did not concern himself keeping promises for dead men.

* * * * *

Ikoma Ayumu planted his foot on the dead island. Even in the light of the moon, the sand was black, like soot. The forest beyond was skeletal and tangled. Clouds churned in the sky. In the distance, Ayumu heard the howl of battering wind. So this was where the dark breeze had led him.

A dead man greeted him on the beach. No more than a lifeless skeleton, still gripping the handle of a weather-worn katana. It wore splintered armor bearing the mon of the Spider. Ayumu took note of the location of the strikes and then moved on.

The next body he encountered lay just within the border of the stripped forest. This one’s back was broken. It was cleaved in the same place as the first, but was also missing its jaw. Ayumu took note and then passed through the brush. There, the wind grew louder.

As he drew closer to the center, he could feel the wind’s strength increasing. The battered limbs of the trees towered over him, swaying with the force of the breeze, clattering and splintering violently. He soon saw that the forest was growing thinner; the wind had uprooted the weakest trees and flung them aside, obscuring the path beneath piles of broken limbs and twisted trunks. There were bodies as well, all bone-dead, all bearing the same fatal injuries. With only one arm, Ayumu had to carefully maneuver around them. There were far less barriers to stop the wind here, and it constantly buffeted him. Swaying thorn-covered branches clawed at his face and grabbed his kimono, like lifeless minions commanded to stop him. Halfway to the center, he drew his wakizashi, using it as a parangu to clear the attacking foliage.

The wind’s howl was deafening. The closer he came to the center, the stronger it grew. It tore the hat from his head and clattered his armor. It threw sticks, leaves, and small branches in his way. Now and again, it threw the bone of a defeated enemy. It pulled on his empty sleeve and tossed it into vile prickers. And worse of all, it whispered, layered voices hissing in his hear, like a thousand snakes.

“Worthy?” they asked. “Are you worthy?”

Ayumu persevered, pushing forward through the thick wind, gritting his teeth against the bone-chill and the ice-flecked tempest. His eyes pressed shut as the voices whispered. They urged him, challenged him, all the while mocking him in rasp hisses. He could hear nothing else. He opened his eyes and saw a clearing just beyond the torrent, distorted by the ripple of the air and suspended debris. Beyond it, he saw a shadowed form, flickering like some dark flame, a dancer obscured by tempest wind. It spun. It laughed.

Wakizashi in hand, Ayumu dove into the clearing through the barrier of wind.

There was no one there. The clearing was empty. Even the grass stood still.

Ayumu stood at the center of the clearing. His eyes scanned for any movement. His foe was here, he knew. She was watching, waiting. There were others, he felt, that watched as well. The night sky above him was dominated by the body of the Obsidian Moon. Staring. Judging.

The whirlwind assailed his ears. He realized that he would not be able to hear his opponent’s approach. Cold numbed his fingers, lessening his already diminished control over his sword. The spinning distortion of the wind was almost hypnotic, requiring great discipline to look away. She’d drawn him, as she’d drawn countless others, into a battle that robbed him of his senses. He realized that he could not depend upon them.

The words of the man from the teahouse came to him in that moment. She will strike twice, he’d said, first to disable, then to kill. If she perceives weakness, that is where she strikes.

            He lowered his guard and closed his eyes.

When they opened again, she was upon him. It was too late to avoid the strike, but then, he could never deflect her blow anyway. She’d fallen from a high vantage, and her sword, an arc of glassy light at this speed, had already fallen into its target. The first strike was to disable. Thekamain her other hand was readied for the second, to kill.

And it would have worked, as it had worked on countless others, were it not for one thing. Her first strike, as it was for every corpse he had studied on his path to the clearing, was aimed at his left shoulder.

His left shoulder, where there was no arm.

He watched the severed sleeve of his kimono flutter away, sucked into the vortex of wind surrounding him. His wakizashi struck behind him, sinking up to its tsuba in her unarmored belly. He felt her surprised gasp on his ear, felt her weight against his back, and the warmth of her blood. Thekamafell from her limp fingers, followed by her katana. He waited.

She whispered in his ear. “How did you know? How did you hear me approach?”

He replied, “I didn’t.”

He twisted the blade and effortlessly pulled it from her side. She fell like a punctured water-bag, trailing a lazy arc of red and black. Her landing was violent. Life seeped into the grass as death entered her body. He watched her wordlessly as she twitched, tilting her head up, staring at him with wide eyes. They were glassy orbs of polished obsidian, reflecting the moon.

“You would have won,” he said, “if you wore proper armor.” Ayumu tilted his head and met her gaze. The wind was slowing, as if it ebbed with her life. “You don’t remember me,” he finally said. She didn’t reply. Blood bubbled on her lips.

He nodded. “We fought together,” he told her, “in the Destroyer War. Only I didn’t know who you were, back then.”

He knelt by her side, still beyond her reach. Even so, she hadn’t the strength to attack him if she wanted. She was like a slain beast, laboring in her death, the violent struggling from before giving way to a patient calm. He continued, “My men engaged one of the ironclad units. Yours attacked its flank. I didn’t recognize your heraldry, so I didn’t know who you were. Not until your lieutenants raised the bodies of my fallen comrades, robbing them of their rest.” His eyes burned with the memory. “When the Destroyers were beaten, you turned on us.”

“And I took your arm,” she whispered, a smile coming to her moonlit face. “And tainted you.”

He nodded. Her body shook; if she had the strength, it would have been a chuckle. She drew a painful breath. “Now I know why I failed. I should have killed you.”

Ayumu shrugged as he sheathed his blade. “You wanted me to suffer.”

Her smile grew wider. Impossibly, she raised her head, looking deep into his eyes. “Did you suffer?” she asked, flecks of red spattering her teeth. “Did you, fallen man?”

He said nothing. She broke her gaze and lowered her head to the soft grass. It seemed to him that she sank there, that something vital had escaped her body with that final effort.

“You… don’t even… know,” she whispered, skin growing pale, “…what… suffering… … …is…”

The wind swept up her last tortured breath, adding her voice to its own.

Ayumu expected the tempest to fade in those moments. But they did not. The wind continued its tormenting spin, the leaves rustling, the limbs of the trees clattering together. The voices in the wind continued their hum. He was still being watched; the blades of grass held still, as if waiting to see what he would do next.

Ayumu reached for her sword. The voices grew louder, their whispers surrounding him. “Worthy,” they said, “Worthy…”

His hand grasped the handle of the blade. It was surprisingly light. Manta-skin enwrapped the black stone of the handle. The tsuba displayed a grimacing face. The handle was like black stone, the visage of a snake carved into the hilt. The blade was flawless and mirrored. It seemed to speak to him, in the rustle of the leaves, in the gust of the wind, even in the rasp of his own breath.

“I am Mukizo,” it said, “A sword of the Chuda. My power is yours, Obsidian Champion.”

Ayumu leveled the blade with the saya from the dead woman’s side, propping it so that he could sheath it properly with his only arm. The sword tilted in his hand, and in the mirrored blade, he saw his reflection. He saw himself whole again, a left arm of chitinous black plates, crackling with power. He saw himself leading armies again, countless forms obeying his unspoken commands. He saw purpose to his life once more, service to a lord that would embrace him, despite his condition, his self-loathing. He saw lithe and limber women hanging from his shoulders, strong warriors bowing before him, a vast castle filled with servants, and more land then he could cross in a day. He saw a future in that blade, promises, and the power to regain everything he had lost. Everything and more.

“No,” he said. “Never. I will never serve you.”

He sheathed the blade, and the wind died. The woods crashed with the sound of falling branches. Silently, he lifted the sheathed sword from the body of Daigotsu Hotako, the last Champion of Obsidian. By defeating her, by recovering her blades, he’d proven himself worthy of the title of Obsidian Champion. By rejecting it, he’d proven himself worthy to be a Lion.

Sword in hand, Ayumu turned towards the woods. The Mantis from the teahouse, smiling, pipe in hand, and flanked by many magistrates, looked back at him.

* * * * *

Ayumu sipped his Jade Petal Tea. Its warmth sustained him, like the serenity of the surrounding temple. Nobukatsu smiled from his seat on the other side of the table. “How is the tea?” he asked.

“Bitter,” Ayumu replied, setting the cup down. “But adequate.” He met the man’s eyes. “Arigato. For all that you have done for me.”

The Ruby Champion nodded, packing his pipe. “The law is unyielding,” he said, “but for those who serve the Empress, certain concessions can be made. Do you understand?”

“Hai,” Ayumu said. “I do.”

Nobukatsu put away his sack of kizami, then drew a small scroll, placing it on the table. “This deed places this temple in the hands of your family,” he said. “This place is yours now, as is its purpose.” He glanced a little beyond where Ayumu sat. Beneath the shrine to the Jade Sun, Hotako’s twistedkamalay, and Mukizo sat in its sheath upon a daisho stand of carved jade. His gaze returned to Ayumu.

“I have spoken with the Jade Magistrates,” Nobukatsu said, “They assure me that the trappings of the Obsidian Champion, including her sword, could perhaps serve the Empire once again. Until that day comes, guard them with your life.”

Ayumu’s eyes were serious. “I will.”

The Ruby Champion stood, bowing in parting. Ayumu replied in kind. Nobukatsu turned to leave, but paused for a moment, glancing back to the one-armed man seated before the shrine. “Arrangements such as this are uncommon in this day and age,” he remarked, “even as secrets are not. Make sure that you are thankful for this.”

Without further word, the Ruby Champion left. Ayumu watched him go, passing the guards that stood by the door of the temple. His temple, he reminded himself, and his duty.

The wind blew in through light-filtered windows. The candles flickered; Ayumu turned to face the shrine of the Jade Sun and the blade that sat beneath it. The carved snake-face of the sword’s hilt stared at him. The breeze swam around his ears, whispering with a faded voice.

“I am Mukizo,” it seemed to say, “the blade that drank an Emperor’s blood.”

The whispers were in the creak of the wooden floor, the quiet shuffle of his robes, the exhale of his own breath. “I cannot be purged, cannot be redeemed. I am but a vessel… The Chuda speak through me. They are coming… WE are coming. It is only a matter of time. We will find you where you hide. You will die alone, our darkness will spread once more, and all of your actions will have been pointless. These blades are the Chuda’s, even now. There is nothing you can do.”

If they had been watching, the guards may have thought that Ayumu was bowing, tilting his head towards the blade as he leaned in. Or perhaps that he was tempted by the weapons on the stand, and was reaching once more for his Jade Petal Tea.

But neither of these things were true. He was leaning in, bringing his lips close to the sword’s carved handle. The face of the snake grimaced. Whoever had watched him from the clearing was watching him now. He knew they were listening, knew they would hear his words, here and a thousand miles away.  His lips parted. He replied with a whisper.

“Then come and get them.”

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