Scenes from the Empire

By Yoon Ha Lee, Robert Denton, and Shawn Carman

Edited by Fred Wan

Fables

            “I’m being sent to the Colonies,” Yoritomo Souta said that evening.  “Probably to farm giant ants.”

            “Oh?” Kakita Takara said, at first taking this for another fable.  In the past weeks of their affair, she had found that Souta was possessed of a good number of them.  To be truthful, it was his unabashed love for over-the-top ridiculous yarns that had first drawn her to him, although his looks didn’t hurt.  He was appealing in that rough-hewn way that she found so refreshing after being surrounded by elegant, beautifully-groomed men all her life.

            They were exchanging good sake and silly stories in her room, no more quietly than was necessary.  There was a lovely half-moon floating outside, and you could see its light captured in the icicles.  Souta was more than adequate to ward off the chill, a quality Takara appreciated in men as a category.  He had an arm draped around her shoulders now, and they sat side by side under a melange of quilts and disheveled kimonos.

            “No, I’m serious, Takara.”  Souta was starting to slur just the slightest bit.  Usually Takara got drunk faster than he did, only to be expected with a Mantis, but it was true that he had shown an unusual liking for that bottle of Five Sands sake.  Takara hadn’t cared for it herself, especially that strange raw resinous taste, but her honorable mother had taught her from an early age that other people’s tastes were their own business, and a good Crane was gracious about other people’s failings.

            “All right,” Takara said agreeably, leaning over so she could help herself to a lukewarm cup half-full of tea.  “Isn’t it a great honor?  I thought you wanted a position with more responsibility.”  Surely the Mantis, of all people, wouldn’t hold a stint in the Colonies against someone.

            “Oh yes,” Souta said softly, “a lot of responsibility.  My dear brother made that very clear in his summons.”

            Takara was alarmed–that was genuine bitterness in Souta’s voice–but it would only shame him to let on that she had noticed.  “Think of all the exciting stories you’ll have to share with me when you visit,” she said, stroking his hand.  Best to distract him–”I especially liked the one about the sea serpent with four heads, and the thing the samurai-ko did with that unusual pair of chopsticks.”  He still didn’t seem very distracted.  “They tell a story about my great-grandmother, you know.  There was always a tradition that she was descended from a kitsune, and certainly she liked to wear russet obi more than was strictly proper according to the fashions of the time.”

            Actually, no such thing was true about her great-grandmother, or if it was, no one had seen fit to inform her about it.  She had read something like it in an anthology of supernatural tales, however, and now that she thought of it, the fox-blooded woman in question had fallen tragically in love with an artisan who loved nothing but his own carvings.  Still, she and Souta had been exchanging amusing lies throughout their affair, partly as a way of diverting each other, partly as a way of acknowledging the fundamentally transient nature of their relationship.

            Now, however–now, Souta was changing the rules of their game.  He showed every sign of wanting to burden their relationship with a bite of the truth.

            There was nothing to do for it but see if her suspicion was correct.  “You know,” Takara said, as if the idea had just occurred to her, “I’ve thought that a sojourn in the Second City might do me good.  It’s so difficult jostling for position with all my cousins.  I’ve told you about the one who used to follow me around and then make snide remarks about my choice of hairpins to all the boys I liked, right?  Not to mention the time she slandered me to my sensei.”

            Just as she had thought he would, Souta ignored the idle chatter about her cousins and focused straight in on the Second City.  “That’s a terrible idea,” he said, looking stricken.  His arm tightened around her shoulders, then relaxed, if not very convincingly.  “The climate is awful, everyone agrees on that.  A flower such as yourself would only be diminished by the experience.”

            If her honorable mother was to be believed, the flowers of the Crane could do with a good deal more hard work and a lot less lounging around discussing favorite pillow-books, but Takara imagined this line of argument would not find much sympathy with her lover.  Still, there was something Souta definitely wanted to prevent her from finding out about the Second City.  She couldn’t imagine what it could be.  It wasn’t as if the Empire didn’t know of its existence.

            “Well,” she said artlessly, “in that case, you could do me a favor by pulling a few strings, no?  I rather like the thought of my cousin Megiri making the journey only to be laid low by some unaesthetic but ultimately harmless fever for a few months.  I could provide you with a list.  Most of my cousins are terrible bores.”  This wasn’t entirely true.  Takara enjoyed most of her cousins’ company, but their definition of “enjoy” involved pranks and convoluted schemes.  Once Megiri had even contrived to get a particularly annoying boy sent to the Crab for a year.  Everyone had been impressed by that one.

            In any case, the blow went true to the target.  “Oh, no,” Souta said, looking if anything more stricken, “I couldn’t, ah, do that to your relatives.  I wouldn’t wish to lose your good regard.”

            “My dear Mantis,” Takara said, kissing him firmly on the nose, “I doubt you’re in any danger of doing that.”

            It was uncomfortably true, and she hadn’t expected it to be.  She was certain now that Souta’s new duties did not bode well for her clan.  He was a fool for trying to protect her–all things considered, in everything but arm wrestling she was much better equipped to protect herself than he was–but it meant something that he had tried, and in the meantime she had something interesting to report to her honorable mother.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Rightful Toji

            When Asahina Konomi stepped into the room, her senses were assailed by a combination of spicy and musty scents. It smelled thick with agarwood, cinnamon bark, and Mao-to tea.  It was the smell of sickness. She’d long associated it with the dying.

            The gloom shimmered with the gaussian texture of incense smoke. In the corner, beyond a lonely beam of amber sunlight, her grandfather lay in his flat bed. She could hear his labored breath, too weak even to stir the fog around him. Konomi knew it would not be long now. On quiet feet she moved to the side of the bed, falling into respectful seiza. He lay on his back, eyes closed, his weathered face motionless under a thin layer of dust. Gingerly, she extended her palm and touched his withered hand. It felt cold.

            “…Konomi?” His voice was a cold breath. He seemed so tired. Eager to sleep.

            She closed her eyes and fought her trembling. “I am here, grandfather.”

            His quiet breathing continued for many moments. She could feel him sinking deeper into the embrace of the next world. The weight of her heart pulled it painfully into her belly, and she felt as though she was sinking with him. Outside, the wind-chime stirred four times, then was silent.

            “Konomi.”

            She opened her eyes. The time was now; she could feel Meido pulling him, sensed the stir of the kami as the worlds faded together. Yet he hesitated, as if his wind-pulled spirit, like an old and tattered cloth, was somehow snagged. She took his still fingers and squeezed them. She wanted to smile, to reassure him, but any movement of her face would loosen the film of tears before her eyes. She would not do that. Cry now and his spirit will not want to leave. He would become trapped in the world of the living.

            His hand squeezed back. She gasped. A moment before, he’d had no strength. He radiated urgency, pulling her forward. “Grandfather?” The wind-chime outside rang demandingly, but she ignored it. Meido would have to wait a moment more. “What is it?”

            She sat patiently as he struggled. The oppressive chiming grew louder, as if by covering up the sound of his breathing, it could smother him. She lent him her strength and leaned in.

            At last, his voice came to her ear. “Konomi-chan. I… I know the truth.”

            The chime went silent. Her heartbeat raced as his began to fade. “I know… the truth…” he said. “I… know why… you accepted… the Asahina’s training. You… gave up… your own dreams…”

            The heat of shame tinted her cheeks, and she lowered her head. It would risk his passage to the afterlife to confess this, but her heart was open now. With his dying strength he had opened it, and she felt her emotions tumble out. “I failed you,” she confessed. Tears fell on his cold hand. “I couldn’t find a cure. I thought… if I was good enough…”

            “No… ” the old man struggled, “No… failure. You are… my brightest… grandchild.” His mouth twitched into a faint smile. “You always… showed promise. That is why… the kami… chose you.”

            “Grandfather…” she whispered.

            His eyes softly opened. Milky white. “I want… to give you… something. So that… your talents… will not… be… wasted.”

            With a shaking hand, he gestured to the far corner. An old desk sat there, its corners coated with melted candle-wax. Konomi spotted a scroll on its surface, bound with blue ribbon. As she retrieved it and returned to her grandfather’s side, she saw that it was sealed with his family’s Mon. Her family, before she was fostered to the Asahina. The Mon of the Doji.

            He trembled. “Break… the seal.”

            She did. The scroll unfurled before her. Her eyes took in the uneven calligraphy of shaking hands and knotted fingers. They widened.

            He sighed. “My gift… to you…”

            It was a deed. His last wishes transferred his entire estate to her. And tucked within was another scrap of paper, this one older and weathered, the writing nearly faded. It was a recipe, and a list of instructions.

            There was no containing her tears now. “Grandfather!” she cried.

            He was smiling where he lay. Silent. Still. Konomi cupped her hand over her mouth. The chime outside twinkled gently. After long moments, she closed her eyes, then extinguished the incense.

* * *

            “This is outrageous!” Doji Hirota exclaimed, throwing down the paper document. Doji Shinkichi, standing behind him, fixed confused eyes upon her. Konomi returned no emotion, refusing to acknowledge her brother’s outburst. Around them, the “Kurabito,” the brewery-workers, stared with slack faces.

            She had come to claim what her grandfather had left her: the lone sake works in the village of Tsuma. The “Maneki Neko Brewery,” named for the ceramic bobtail cat that sat just within the main entrance. She’d spent much time here as a child; the sight of the weathered old statue, its left paw raised above its smiling face, unleashed a rush of familiar memories. She’d walked unimpeded amidst the brewery-people as they went about their work, even as many of them paused to cast her curious glances. She’d finally stopped before the huge Moromi vats that held the fermenting rice mash, recalling the promise she’d made to herself when she was a child. It was the dream of a little girl who’d looked up to her grandfather the brewmaster. That one day she would be just like him. It was a dream she abandoned when she’d finally learned of his slow-acting illness, and her gift from the kami. She’d never told him that. How had he known?

            The Empire was on the cusp of winter, so she knew the brewery would be busy. It was empty in summer. The farmers tended to their rice paddies and wul fields, and the koji mold grew within the ancestral caves beyond her family’s private shrine. But when the farmer’s lands were blanketed by snow, that was when the Toji would come to the village and hire the hardiest men and women to work in the brewery. Villagers competed for the privilege of working for the brewery in winter, where they were given warm lodging and wages in exchange for their work. In the quiet of winter, the brewery was the beating heart of Tsuma.

            But for the moment, the brewery had come to a full stop. Konomi felt the eyes of the Kurabito watching her as her brothers scowled at the document by their feet.

            “You have no right to it,” Hirota shouted. He was always quick to lose his temper. “We have managed it for grandfather for years! You had your chance, Konomi-chan!” he spat the suffix, “You chose to live in the temple!”

            “The kami called me to my duty,” she corrected him, not falling for his bait. “Just as grandfather calls me to this.”

            “This is not what grandfather would have wanted,” Shinkichi said.

            A flicker of anger crossed Konomi’s features. “You know nothing of grandfather’s wishes!” she shouted. With her arms crossed, back straight, and shoulders square, and her long sleeves rolled back to her elbows, she was an oddly intimidating figure. “Look at this swill you are making now! You think that I do not know what you have done to our family’s sake works!?” She sneered, showing her open disgust for the first time. “Pouring rainwater into the finished batch for a greater yield! Making inferior nigori sake, like a Crab brute! Cheap cedar barrels instead of cypress! Have you forgotten grandfather’s recipe?! Our ancestors’ ways!?”

            Her brothers were unaccustomed to an empowered, assertive Konomi. They stared at her numbly.

            “Have you nothing to say!?!” she demanded.

            “This is progress, sister,” Shinkichi protested weakly.

            Konomi shook her head. “Not progress! Just a scheme to make more money! You have allowed desire to dirty your souls!” She turned her back to them, as sure an insult as a slap to the face. “Grandfather saw what you were doing to his brewery, to our family’s reputation, but he was too weak to stop you. The illness saw to that. That is why he left this brewery to me, with instructions that I restore the previous recipe. He knew that I would honor his wishes.”

            Shinkichi shrank back. Her words bit deep, and he felt his grandfather’s eyes upon him. Shame burned his face as he lowered his head.

            But Hirota felt only cold anger. “As if you could run this place!” he hissed. “A priestess as a Toji!”

            “And why not!?” she snapped, facing him square again. “The koji mold comes from our ancestral shrines, coaxed by the kami of our caves! Sake is blessed for festivals, offered to fortunes! Sake is sacred!”

            “You are a fool,” Hirota said. “The Kurabito will not respect you.”

            Konomi paused, her eyes narrowed. Abruptly, she cast a sweeping look around her, matching the eyes of all the workers who watched the scene unfold from their milling stations. They were all men and women of Tsuma, hardworking, salt-of-the-earth heimin. They looked back at her with dirty faces. Faces of necessity. Not pride in one’s work.

            “You are the artisans who make the sake,” she said to them. “What do you say?”

            The heimin exchanged glances. Hirota’s face scrunched. “They don’t get a say!” he barked. “All of you, back to work!”

            “Are you proud of what you produce?” she asked. “When the spring comes and your work is bottled, do you hold your heads up proudly? Do you drink the sake you made? Does your master?”

            “That’s enough!” Hirota shouted. “I’m calling the magistrate!”

            “Go get him,” Konomi replied unperturbed. Her eyes fell on an older man within the crowd. He was standing by his rice-polishing station, a task far too labor-intensive for one of his age. She recognized him. “You worked here when my grandfather was Toji,” she said, “didn’t you?”

            He raised his head. “I remember when you were but a child, my lady.”

            Konomi nodded. “Where is your family, Honored Elder? I noticed the worker’s quarters were almost empty.”

            “The worker’s quarters are for workers only!” Hirota interjected.

            Konomi looked to the rest of the Kurabito. “When my grandfather was Toji, the workers’ families were permitted to stay in the workers quarters. Now that I am in charge, we are re-instating that policy.” Murmured excitement rippled through the workers as Hirota’s expression turned into quiet horror. “Send for your spouses, your children, and your Honored Elders. As long as you are working hard, they may stay here.”

            The effect was instant. The Kurabito had smiling faces. She’d won them over with that single gesture.

            “You’re insane!” Hirota exclaimed.

            She cast him a sideways glance. “I thought you were fetching the magistrate.”

            Finally beaten, but still fuming, Hirota glared at her balefully. “This is not over,” he swore. “Come on, Shinkichi,” he said, gesturing for his brother to follow.

            Instead, Shinkichi fell suddenly on his knees, laying his head on the floor, bowing before his sister. Hirota’s eyes widened. “What are you doing!?” he demanded. “Get up, you fool!”

            “Forgive me, sister!” cried Shinkichi, “It was Hirota’s idea to water down the sake! I had nothing to do with it! And we were only making unfiltered sake until the ash filters arrived!”

            “Shut up!” Hirota barked. But it was too late; the secret had slipped. “Ash filters” were the cinders of animal bones, abhorred by sake purists. Accusing eyes stared at Hirota as the room fell silent.

            “We do not filter with bones in this brewery,” she said softly. “Get out, Hirota. You are not welcome here.”

            “Traitor!” Hirota accused. His eyes flicked to his kowtowing brother. “Both of you!” With stomping feet, he stormed out, striking the thick ceramic cat with his palm as he went.

            “Good riddance,” said Konomi. She gestured for Shinkichi to stand. His face was red with shame, and he would not look her in the eyes. “So you are sorry for what you did?” she asked.

            He nodded. “Sister, I do not want to shame our ancestors! I never meant to bring shame to grandfather’s name! I thought-”

            She laid a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. She spoke gently, as a shugenja. “Grandfather smiles on you now, Shinkichi-kun. He is happy that you have corrected your path. I think he would like for you to continue to oversee the Kurabito here.” Her smile faded slightly and she adopted a firmer tone as she added, “But I am in charge. Understand?”

            “Hai,” he replied, bowing gratefully.

            Konomi smiled again. “Good,” she said. “Come with me, then. I have some ideas I wish to discuss.” Her smile broadened as the Kurabito returned to their work, brimming with a new energy.

* * *

            “Lady Hanegansi expresses her apologies that she could not attend your summer court, Makoto-sama,” Doji Shunya said from his steep bow. “She tends to the priorities that you assigned her.”

            Doji Makoto flashed his famous smile, waving the comment away. “I had hoped to see her legendary beauty one more time,” he said with a wistful undercurrent, “but I suppose I must manage with only my dreams.”

            His closest advisors chuckled politely at their incorrigible leader. Shunya smiled politely. “She does offer a gift in condolence,” he said.

            Makoto raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

            Shunya made a gesture, and his assistant, a lower-ranking courtier of the Doji, stepped forward, extending the gift with both hands. It was a large ceramic bottle with a parchment label. Hand-painted calligraphy announced the contents: “Genshu-Muroka-Shizuka Sake.” Above that, the name of the brew. “Maneki Neko.”

            The Doji champion radiated a genuine smile. After the formal refusals, he stepped from the dais to accept the gift with his own hands. The lesser courtier seemed oddly cold and stiff, but Shunya beamed with pride.

            Makoto laughed and held the bottle fondly. “Convey my sincere thanks to Lady Hanegansi for her generosity and cleverness,” he said. “I’m impressed! She knew my favorite sake!”

            Shunya allowed himself a minor smile. “It is said that the Imperial Consort himself chooses Maneki Neko Sake. Even over Friendly Traveler.”

            Makoto nodded, glancing up from the bottle. “That’s because it is the best.”

            After a further exchange, Makoto excused the court, leading his entourage of guests to the splendor of the palace gardens. He entrusted the bottle to a servant. Already guests whispered speculations as to who would savor the brew with the Crane Champion before the summer court ended. The representative of the Hanegansi family relaxed a bit, glancing at his assistant. “Makoto-sama was very pleased,” he remarked. “I am thankful for that. Imagine, only last season the Maneki Neko Sake Works was unheard of throughout the lands. They must have a truly great Toji to have become so famous so quickly.”

            His assistant, Doji Hirota, did not reply.

* * * * * * * * * *

Bittersweet

            The kobune approached from the mainland, where the great buildings of the Aerie seemed like children’s toys on the horizon. Kitsuki Jakuei watched as the ship grew ever closer, taking a moment to straighten the angles of his clothing after a particularly brisk sea breeze tossed them into mild disarray. The two others waiting with him seemed oblivious to the wind, but then it would be difficult for a breeze to affect the plates of their armor. The woman did whip her hair so that it would not blow into her face, but other than that, they seemed almost like statues.

            In a matter of moments, the ship arrived on the simple pier below them, and the peasant attendants quickly performed the necessary acts to ensure it was safely bound. A trio of Crane disembarked, although Jakuei had only anticipated two. It was a minor matter, but one he carefully filed away for the future, in the event that it became important. “Welcome to Miryoku no Shima, honored guests,” Jakuei said with a bow.

            The man walking at the head of the three Crane bowed respectfully. “We are grateful for your time,” he said, smiling. He was an older man, with piercing eyes that took in everything despite the disarming smile he bore. “I have heard that my old friend Shizuro has returned to the Empire to deal with matters of a family nature. Shall I assume you are his replacement, then?”

            “I am,” Jakuei said, smiling. “I am Kitsuki Jakuei, Imperial magistrate and newly appointed hatamoto of Miryoku no Shima. It is my great pleasure to make your acquaintance. Am I given to understand that you are Kakita Kazan?”

            “I am Kazan, yes.”

            “Then it is I who am honored,” Jakeui said, bowing again. “You are one of the architects of this place, this grand estate shared between the Crane and Dragon, and I am in the presence of greatness.”

            Kazan actually burst out laughing, but his expression was one of genuine enjoyment rather than mockery. “I fear you must have been misinformed!” he said, wiping a tear from his eye. “I am just an old man, and one of many who worked to ensure that our clans had something to share between us that will ensure we never again come to such difficulty as in our fathers’ time.” He turned to the two women in his entourage. “Please permit me to introduce my attendants. This is Daidoji Kenshi, a veteran of the War of the Twins and my yojimbo, at least until they realize her talents belong with someone vastly more important than I. And this is Doji Iza, a brilliant scholar who has come to inspect the texts your predecessor kept in this estate.” He looked at Jakuei. “I hope that will not prove difficult?”

            “Not at all,” Jakeui replied. “My predecessor ensured that such things were readily available for consultation, as he was aware of Iza’s impending arrival. It is the spirit of cooperation that made this island of enchantment possible, after all.” He smiled and gestured to his own attendants. “If I may, my own attendants. This is Mirumoto Reiyu, my yojimbo and, although she will not admit it even to herself, a poet of some significant skill.”

            “I am unworthy of such praise,” Reiyu said with a bow to the delegation. “Iza-sama, I am familiar with your research into gaijin cultures. I find your work absolutely fascinating.”

            “Thank you,” Iza said demurely.

            “And this is Mirumoto Kyoshiro, a recent arrival to the island and my most recent addition to the honor guard here.”

            The young warrior stepped forward and bowed wordlessly to Kazan, then to Kenshi. “It is an honor to meet a veteran of the War of the Twins,” he said politely. He then stood and turned toward Doji Iza, but he did not bow. He fixed her with a pointed glare, then turned and began up the path toward the estate.

            Kazan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Jakeui. “Is there a problem with your man?”

            Jakuei was aghast, but struggled to conceal it. “I do not know, Kazan-sama, but you have my word that I will find out, and that such an insult will never be offered to the Crane again so long as I have position on this island.” He turned and gestured up the path, forcing a smile. “Will you accompany us to the estate? I have the texts that Iza-san wishes to see prepared for her.”

            Kazan bowed and smiled, and the Crane followed the Dragon up the path. Daidoji Kenshi glanced up to ensure the Dragon were far enough ahead, then over at Iza. “What was all that about?”

            “Old family business, I think,” Iza replied, a thoughtful expression on her face.

            “Well, I certainly am glad that’s over with,” Kenshi said. “We do not need tension like that in the Aerie.”

            “Over?” Iza said, peering up the path. “No, I doubt that very much.”

We have begun our journey this year down the Road to 10,000, and we want you, the L5R community, to join us!

This year, we are excited to be reaching a massive milestone for L5R – our 10,000th individual card! Throughout the year we will be focusing on this and it will lead up to an event no one wants to miss!

To start with, we are giving away Emperor Edition Starter Decks through a special Facebook contest early to you, our faithful customers! From now, February 1st until February 9th (that includes weekends!), we are holding a daily Facebook giveaway. For the next 9 days, you will have a chance to win an EE Starter for free, and possibly more! How do you participate? It’s really quite easy:

Go to the L5R Facebook page

Click the ‘Like’ button at the top of the page. Every single one counts!

Share the comment with your friends.

Then leave a comment on the daily question.

What is the daily question? Each day, there will be a post asking you a question – what is your favorite clan, favorite card, what’s the best flavor text. All you have to do, is leave an answer in that post, and then we will select one lucky winner each day who has answered the daily question at random. Then, all that person has to do is send their Name, Address and Imperial Assembly membership number (if applicable) to events@alderac.com and they will be mailed their FREE Emperor Edition Starter Deck.

But that’s not all. We are celebrating our 10,000th card, and we are beyond excited for this – so we’re going to up the ante for this contest.

As of this posting, the Facebook page is at 7,259 ‘Likes’. We want 10,000. Or even more! So here’s what we’re going to do:

For each denomination of 100 that we hit (so 7,300, and then 7,400, etc.) during this contest, we will be giving away one additional starter to another winner who has left a comment on the daily question on the day we reach that milestone.

And to give you all a little extra incentive to join in – if, by February 9th, at 11:5p PM PST, we reach 8,000 or more  ’Likes’ on the L5R Facebook page, one lucky winner will receive an entire box of Starter Decks. That’s 1 of each Clan, shipped to you free of charge, for joining us on the Road to 10,000!

This contest is only from February 1st, 2012 until February 9th, 2012 at 11:59 PM PST. So get over to our Facebook page, tell your friends, and show the world the love you have for this game that brings us all together!

Daniel Briscoe
L5R Events Manager

In today’s Focus on Emperor Edition, I am going to talk to you about the contents of the starter decks.

As discussed in previous articles, every starter will come with a fully functioning 40/40 deck, so I won’t bother you with that information again. Instead, let’s talk about everything else besides the 40/40 deck, four random rares, and three booster packs you will get in every starter. Some of this has been mentioned before, but will also be discussed here for completeness’ sake.

As you are probably aware, we are focusing on making Emperor Edition a premium product in where we overload you with cool components to give you a truly amazing product. Every aspect has been improved, including the packaging. Every individual starter deck will be covered with your favorite clan’s colors and artwork. Sized to hold a deck comfortably, this will be a great way to carry your deck around.

• Bio cards – When you open the box, you will notice several cards beyond those included in the deck. First we have the Bio cards, a brief description of each of the characters found in the deck. Now you can instantly find out about the characters that you are playing with.

• Koku – Each starter deck will contain a card worth 5 koku, instead of the standard 4.

• Experienced your favorite personality – Just for buying a starter deck, you can impact the story! Each starter deck will contain a card titled “Experience a Personality”. Upon purchase of your starter deck, you will have the option to mail this card, along with your favorite of the 8 non-Champion bio cards found in your starter deck to AEG. The personality whose bio card is most sent in, once for each clan, will receive an experienced version in a future expansion. All envelopes must be postmarked by April 30^th, 2012 to be counted.

• Collect Glory for your clan – As mentioned in a previous article, we spoke of collectible cards that can be traded in for full bleed versions of Clan Champions, Strongholds, and Rings. These cards come in two forms: “Glory of the X Clan” cards and “Ring” cards, which is simply titled as one of the five elements. You can collect three “Glory” cards of a particular clan and trade them in for one fullbleed stronghold of that clan (i.e. you may trade in three Glory of the Crab cards for any one of the Crab strongholds). Or, if you collect one of each clan, you can trade all nine in for any one Clan Champion you choose. If you collect three of any particular “Ring” collectible card, you can trade them in for a fullbleed version of that ring (i.e. you may trade in three Air cards for a fullbleed Ring of Air). If you collect one of each of the “Ring” collectible cards, you may trade them in for any one of the kanji rings of your choice. Each starter deck comes with two of the Glory cards, appropriate to that starter deck, to get you started towards getting your exclusive fullbleed cards. In tournaments, in order to use any of these cards, you must have access to the correct text for your opponent to read, if they so choose.

For all Redemption Cards, please include a Self Addressed Stamped Envelope along with your cards.

• Tokens – Each starter deck is also going to come with six token sheets, generally themed to that clan. Each of these sheets have six punch out tokens that can be used to track various permanent changes in the game. Force bonuses, Wealth tokens, Sake tokens, Poison tokens (you will notice that Poison tokens are –1F/–1C), and other various tokens. These should be helpful in differentiating the different types of tokens various decks can access.

That is all for this article. We hope you will enjoy these extra features we have added. It is only one of the many ways we have upgraded our product to give you the best experience we possibly can.

Small Charms

By Yoon Ha Lee

Edited by Fred Wan

         It was another sweltering day in Journey’s End City.  The monsoon season was winding down, but the air was still humid and heavy with the smells of the local flowers.  The ronin Uesuko had already had two of the cool ginger drinks that were so popular here.  She wished for another, but she had work to do.  Even if the work came in the form of a recalcitrant booth.  She wished she had thought this through better: she had traveled here thinking that she might be able to use her knowledge of small charms and prayers to comfort the lower classes, even if she was a failure as a shugenja.  So far, she had managed to fall victim to gastrointestinal distress from eating fresh fruit, and a pair of heimin children had taken turns bringing her water and lentil soup until she recovered.  It was a humbling start.

         Now that she was better, she had hoped to set up her stall on this quiet street.  She had obtained all the necessary permits; her father had always impressed upon her the importance of doing things through proper channels.  All the minor prayers she had carefully written out and tied up in small cloth pouches were neatly arranged and weighted down with attractive pebbles.  Now if only she could figure out how to get her banner to stay up.  But every time she tried to nail it in, the nail bent, or went in sideways, or the banner fluttered out of the way as a breeze swept by.  If she hadn’t known better, she would have said the kami were playing games with her.  She knew better than to think they had any attention to spare for her, even for this.  She had spent more time talking to people than at her studies as a child, and she was paying the price for it now.

         “Goodness, that banner really doesn’t want to stay there, does it?” said a bright, cultured woman’s voice.

         Uesuko startled in spite of herself.  She was about to address the woman very politely–she had not been a ronin for very long, and she was still getting used to all the day-to-day implications–when the woman’s appearance sank in.  She wore her hair elaborately coiffed, with a red-black lacquered hairpin set with two small ovals of iridescent abalone shell, and her face was flawlessly made up.  There was a dark red beauty mark applied on her cheek; it looked charming rather than ridiculous.  Her outer kimono was very traditional in cut, unusual for Journey’s End City, but made of sheer cotton gauze over a heavier mauve-and-pink inner layer of sheer silk.

         “Forgive me for staring,” Uesuko said, aware of her own rudeness.  She might not owe a geisha any particular courtesy, but the woman had done her no wrong, and there was every chance she was some dignitary’s favorite.  “I haven’t seen such exquisite taste in hairpins since I arrived here.”

         “You probably don’t look very hard, either,” the geisha said teasingly, “but that’s no matter.  Shall I give you a hand?  Nobody ever thinks I can do anything strenuous without breaking all my nails, but honestly, sometimes I long to just do something simple and straightforward.”

         Uesuko looked ruefully at the banner, then at the hammer in her hand.  She had borrowed it from a neighbor.  The carpenter who had originally put the stall together had assured her that she should have no problem with the banner, and that he would come back later if she had any problems.  He had never come back, naturally.

         “Let me try,” the geisha said.  “You’d never guess it to look at my hands now, but my father is a carpenter.  I know the basics of the trade.”

         “Would you give me the courtesy of your name?” Uesuko said as she handed the hammer over.

         The geisha’s eyes were shrewd and not unkind.  “That’s a Phoenix accent, isn’t it?  You haven’t been a ronin long.  No, don’t answer that, you have all sorts of reasons for your secrets, I’m sure.  I’m Kanako.”

         “I’m Uesuko,” Uesuko said.  “Thank you.”

         “Don’t thank me yet, Uesuko-san.”  Still, the geisha got up on the rickety footstool with surprising agility, and when she hammered the banner in place it actually stay put.

         Kanako got down and passed the hammer back.  ”See, didn’t I tell you?”

         “Thank you,” Uesuko said again.

         “Don’t worry about it.”  Kanako tilted her head back to study the banner.  “Lovely calligraphy.  Your hand?”

         “Yes,” Uesuko said.  “It’s one of the few skills I have.”

         “‘Helping the Desperate,’” Kanako read aloud.  “‘Charms and Prayers.’  What sorts of charms and prayers?”

         Uesuko reminded herself that she was no longer living on her father’s largesse and that, in fact, the funds that she had brought with her from Phoenix lands were running uncomfortably low.  “Good luck, warding away ill-wishers or overly importunate suitors, that sort of thing,” she said, trying to sound confident and mostly succeeding in sounding awkward.  “But I don’t suppose you have a need for such things.”

         She felt like a charlatan.  Her father had intended greater things for her, but her affinity with the kami had never been strong enough, and that was that.

         “I can see that we’re going to have to work on how you persuade your customers, Uesuko-san,” Kanako said, not sounding in the least deferential.  Uesuko found that she didn’t mind.  “You can start practicing with me.  I have to provide entertainment at a party tonight, and I’m nervous that I’ll cause offense to a particular Lion dignitary, very traditional in outlook.  You know how the Lion are.  Is there anything you can offer me?”

         Uesuko personally doubted that the geisha was feeling any such attack of nerves, but she recognized the gesture for the kindness that it was and bent over the cloth satchels.  “This one,” she said, picking up one that was fortuitously in a shade of subdued lilac that harmonized with Kanako’s outfit.  “It’s a copy of a prayer to Benten that a famous Kakita poet wrote a hundred years ago.  The Kakita needed a favor from the Lion and she needed to charm a particular emissary.  Hold the prayer in your thoughts and you’re certain to succeed in your endeavors, whatever they are.”  That last part came out rushed, but she had made it through her prepared speech.

         Kanako was smiling lazily at her.  “That sounds excellent, yes.”  She dug around for her purse, a brocade silk affair with jade beads that was easily worth more than all of Uesuko’s possessions.  After a moment’s thought, she dropped some coins into Uesuko’s hand.

         Uesuko’s mouth went dry.  That was a considerable sum for a geisha to be carrying around casually, let alone paying for a simple prayer.  She sent the kami an earnest entreaty to send some genuine scrap of good luck Kanako’s way.

         “I know it’s not what such a charm is worth,” Kanako said, a little warningly, “but then to help the desperate we have to start by helping ourselves, don’t we?  And I’m sure you’ll see me for repeat business.  I really must find out the name of whoever you got to make these bags.  They would be utterly charming in this particular bolt of silk I got my hands on recently and one can never be too diligent about fashion accessories.  In any case, I had better get going.”

         “Carry the Fortunes,” Uesuko said.

         “Carry the Fortunes,” the geisha echoed, and smiled warmly before she hurried off.

         Business the rest of the day was slower, but with the coins safely tucked away, Uesuko found that she was able to relax a little.  A woodworker came asking for help for his sick daughter.  From the description of the symptoms, Uesuko suspected that the simple prayer to Jurojin was not going to be adequate, although the man insisted on buying the charm anyway, but she gave him the name of a local healer she had heard good things of.  Not long after that, a young man sought a charm to catch the eye of a carter’s daughter.  She ended up persuading him to save the money–Kanako would have been disappointed in her merchant skills, she couldn’t help thinking–and advising him to spend time listening to what the woman actually enjoyed rather than resorting to magical means.  A minor Crane functionary came by, burst into laughter, and bought five prayers on the spot.  He refused to explain why, but Uesuko assumed that it was for a prank of some sort.  Just a few hours ago she would have been mortified or offended or both.  Now, she supposed that the kami had a sense of humor and that at least someone was getting some use out of the trifles she had to offer.

         More than those who came to buy prayers, however, Uesuko was struck by the people who stopped to chat with her as they ambled down the street.  When people in Phoenix lands had talked to her in her past life, it was usually to discuss incantations or rituals or celestial alignments.  Here, people talked to her about grouchy overseers, bent needles, and cantankerous horses.  At first she was bewildered, barely able to stammer out responses, but then she realized that she was enjoying herself.  She didn’t live as a recluse high in the mountains anymore; she was part of the city, too.  She had to be careful what she revealed about herself–the accent was probably a lost cause, although at least she didn’t have to explain what private shame had brought her here–but she could tell vague stories about living in a lord’s household, and rock gardens, and maple trees.  A lot of people were homesick for Rokugan, and appreciated even a haltingly told story about good landscaping.

         Uesuko didn’t see Kanako again for the next week, but she told herself that a geisha of such poise and grace undoubtedly had many demands on her time.  Still, she couldn’t help wondering how Kanako’s party had gone, and whether the charm had had any effect whatsoever.  So she was preoccupied that evening when the wind picked up in one of the sudden bursts that she had yet to grow used to.

         The problem was that the pebbles she had picked out were entirely inadequate for holding down the satchels–themselves not very heavy, even though she had taken the additional precaution of putting a polished river stone in each one–in the face of any significant wind.  Uesuko was hurriedly snatching them up and putting them in her rucksack when she heard someone cry out.

         A little distance away, an armored woman in drab colors was looming over a harried-looking peasant man with a new bruise.  “You said you’d have the payment today,” the woman said very distinctly.  “I am capable of infinite patience, but my masters feel differently.”

         The other merchants in the street were carefully attending to their own business, and a group of children who had been playing with a rope had scampered behind a fruit-seller’s stall.  Uesuko caught herself looking for a magistrate, but magistrates usually had better places to be, and she was well aware that some of them were corrupt anyway.

         Some of her pouches had tumbled away and onto the street, but it couldn’t be helped.  Uesuko gathered up her courage and walked toward the armored woman.  A Spider, probably: once she got closer she could see the mon worked into the chestplate.

         “It never ceases to amaze me that you can find idealists in every crevice of the world,” the Spider said dryly.  “What’s your interest?”

         “Excuse me, honorable samurai,” Uesuko said, “but I was wondering how much this man owed.  I thought perhaps an accommodation could be reached.”

         She made the mistake of looking into the other woman’s eyes.  The Spider was taller than she was, and built like a Crab, and there was an unmistakable shadow of torment in those eyes.  She couldn’t help wonder what story the Spider had and what had brought her to the colonies.

         “You sell those trinkets over there, don’t you?” the Spider said.  “Charms and prayers.  I can’t imagine you make much from them, even in a place like this.  Save your koku, little shugenja.”  To the peasant, she said, “Two more hours.  You know where to bring the money.  And don’t bring her money, you don’t want to compound the miseries of this world.  Take responsibility for your own fecklessness.”  She shoved the peasant, not as hard as she could have, but hard enough, and strode off.

         “I can–” Uesuko said to the man as soon as the Spider was out of earshot.  She wished she could have cowed the Spider, but it wasn’t as though she could call down the wrath of Osano-Wo.

         But the man was shaking his head vehemently.  “No, no.  It’s bad enough that I’m tangled up in this.  She’s right.”

         They argued back and forth for a little while, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be swayed, and Uesuko had to admire his steadfastness, even though she thought it foolhardy.

         “At least take a charm for your troubles?” Uesuko said, feeling wretched.

         The man grinned crookedly at her.  “If it makes you feel better.”  He set about helping her retrieve most of the fallen charms.  Some of them were missing, but all in all Uesuko was surprised that thieves hadn’t made off with more of them.  At her insistence, the man took a charm in a red satchel, although she didn’t think he needed more courage than he already had.

         “Don’t you fret,” the man said, “you’ll see me here tomorrow.  It was a kind thought, and I should have known better than to take that loan.”

         There was something mortifying about being comforted by someone you had tried, however gauchely, to help.  But Uesuko smiled at him.  “Carry the fortunes,” she said, a little wanly.

         “Carry the fortunes,” he called back over his shoulder.

         Watching him, Uesuko couldn’t help but remember Kanako’s words.  To help the desperate, we have to start by helping ourselves.  She wouldn’t have thought of it, but it was true.  She had to become stronger–even if it wasn’t strength measured in swords or scrolls–so that she could do what she had come here to do.

         Uesuko reflected that she would never have thought to find enlightenment from the mouth of a geisha.  Clearly, she had much to learn about the ways of the world.

         Humming to herself, she continued putting everything away for the night.  Perhaps tomorrow she would see Kanako again, or the man, or even the Spider, who had shown such curious solicitude for a bystander, by Spider standards.  And tomorrow she could try again to bring comfort where she could.

         It was a tranquil evening in Isawa Nori’s house, but all he could think of was how quiet the place had become since his wife died.  They had had two children, neither of whom lived here anymore.  The older had a respectable position at a nearby temple, and despite his rambunctiousness as a child, had grown into a sober, thoughtful young scholar.

         As for the younger–

         Nori made his customary circuit of the rock garden.  He had raked it this morning, and there was poetry to be had in the simple undulating curves, the calm round pebbles, the soft sand.  Leaves had fallen during the day.  He picked two up, beautifully formed red maple leaves, crisp at the edges.  He would remove the rest tomorrow as he did his walking meditation, but for now he contemplated them as part of the arrangement, set there by the wind’s own hands.

         He found no peace here, but he had not expected to.  When he had been younger, he would have spent ever-longer hours of meditation seeking to suppress any thoughts about the hole in his family.  Now, he was wise enough to know that it was better to acknowledge his bitterness so that it didn’t grow to consume him.

         After the sun tipped over the horizon, he headed back inside and to the family shrine.  An old nemuranai resided there, in the shape of a wide bowl.  It was painted with summer flowers and cicadas; it had awakened to virtue in the hands of one of his revered ancestors.  Nori’s great-uncle had originally broken the nemuranai by betraying his lord.  Nori himself, knowing his limits, had regarded the silent nemuranai as a trust: someday someone from his line would be able to soothe the item’s spirit and reawaken its virtue.  It might even have happened in his lifetime if his daughter, desperate for his approval and disappointingly small of talent, had not made the attempt herself and offended the spirit.  The widened crack in the bowl’s center was a constant reminder of her.

         Nori kept portraits of his wife and son in the family shrine, along with those of his parents, but none of his daughter.  Uesuko had failed him, despite the prestigious life he had planned for her, and he would never forgive her for her shame.

         But he left the two maple leaves by the nemuranai’s side, because Uesuko had loved maples, and because he missed her.

Discuss the events of this fiction in our Story Forum!

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.

However, the deck creates a very Negative Play Experience, a term I do not use lightly, often times never allowing your opponent to buy a single personality. And even though the deck is not likely to ever win a tournament, when it is unleashed on the unsuspecting or the casual player, it is enough to make them possibly want to quit the game, which is bad for everyone. In other words, it may not make the cut at a tournament, and if it does it likely will not make it very far into the elimination rounds, but it can be very devastating to the experience of those at the middle and lower end tables. L5R has always been very concerned with the experience all players have at a tournament, not just those who make the elimination rounds.

So with this I have decided to issue erratum to Raido no Oni. Effective immediately, the following trait will be added to Raido.

Will only enter play from a province.

We hope this erratum will get Emperor back on course where we want it to be, and we look forward to having the most successful arc in L5R’s history!

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.

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