Rebellion against the shogun! (Open)

[Mareyland]

OOC: this post was written with input and agreement from Shimono

Wilson Page spent the rest of the day after the massacre of his shipmates aboard the Amity huddled underneath the docks of Umugi, trying to stay in the shadows so as not to be spotted by the samurai who had killed Captain Shannon and, as far as he knew, everyone else aboard the clipper ship. He waited until night had covered the land for several hours, and then - slowly, with his heart pounding in trepidation - he began to inch out from under the docks and up the shoreline of the cove.

He had one thought: Izumi. That port, on the opposite side of the island, was where other foreign merchants - sensible ones, he thought with sad bitterness - went to ply their trade. If he could reach Izumi, he could find a way back home. That was the thought that animated and sustained him. But getting to Izumi meant crossing the entire island of Shimono. He had a tenuous grasp of the language, but that wouldn’t summon up food or a sense of direction. His next thought was a dangerous one: he needed to get back onto the ship.

He was fortunate: the guards posted to watch over the Amity seemed to take their duties lightly. No doubt they believed that Wilson Page was dead, lying with the other bodies still laying strewn about the deck. He was able to slip onboard and into the cabins, which had obviously been ransacked. But they hadn’t found everything. His pistol was still in the locked drawer of his desk, and the key remained secreted where he had left it. The cash was worthless here, but it might be useful in getting onboard a ship home. He took both, as well as a compass that had obviously been examined and then discarded to the floor. He stuffed the knapsack he used for shore leave with whatever spare clothes he could find, and then started for the door.

One last impulse sent him further into the ship, to the room where they had planned this damned voyage. The map of Shimono had been scattered off the table, but it was sitting crumpled in the corner. He folded that up and stuffed it in the bag, then made his way off the ship. He crept around the outskirts of the town, and followed the road that led further inland.

[Shimono]

Though the language barrier would not be simple to overcome, the Aháàng soldiers were delighted by the hospitality of the Shimonese. Fish was the main staple of many a diet in their culture, and many of them had not had proper hot tea in weeks. Eagerly, they would share their own rations with the samurai, which consisted of fish and other meat jerky, various spices , tobacco, and more. A few had brought instruments as well - mostly drummers and floutists, but there was a guitarist among them - and had settled in and played for the samurai as a sign of gratitude. They showed the Shimonese the protective and offensive sigils and the runes they bore on their armor, uniforms, weapons and shields. They kept their manners about them, though nearly any attempt at speaking Shimonese, except in rare cases, was butchered.

Each time the army stopped for the night and made camp, the two groups of warriors had the time for further socializing. The samurai of Clan Hatano and Clan Nagao struggled with the Ahaang language just as the foreign soldiers struggled with Shimonese, but they would make do. Gestures and other means of conveying meaning helped to fill the gaps. Just as the Ahaang warriors displayed their weapons and armor, so too did the samurai display their katana blades, and the armor which they wore, which had often been passed down through many generations.

Being a samurai meant mastering not only the art of the blade and the bow, but also other forms of artistry. To the sounds of the Ahaang instruments the samurai added their own: melodious notes from flutes carved from bamboo, or the sound of lutes. Some of these were stout instruments, played by plucking the strings with the aid of a pick. Others had long necks and required a bow to play.

The initial hostility and suspicion which many of the samurai had felt was quickly eroded in the face of the good nature of their new allies. Some remained aloof, unwilling to step across the cultural divide and engage, but they were a small minority.

"Ròníñ", Tibosa would say whenever speaking of the ronin that the rebels had hired. He had the right idea, but his accent made the sounds all curvy, as Maxatanga tended to do. "I have dealt with their type on many occasion." He had not the chance to properly introduce himself to lord Nagao, but he tried to add his most relevant credentials for Sehu to translate. "I have been a member of the Bounty Hunters' Guild since I was sixteen, and have been receiving military schooling since I was ten. I have received recognition from both the Bounty Hunters Guild as well as the military proper for my capabilities in devising complex maneuvering against unconventional opponents, such as these... Ròníñ that the rebels ally with. They are not men of honor, but they are men of cunning. From this, I can already predict and anticipate the treachery they may levy against us."

“Treachery, yes,” Tetsuya Nagao echoed. “One can never know what to expect from them. Some were once considered for service in one clan or another, but rejected. These men are filled with jealousy, and anger. Others were once samurai, but were cast out from their clan. These men harbor fury as well, but they are the more dangerous because they know our ways, but they do not hold to our codes of honor and behavior.” Tetsuya’s brow furrowed. “I fear they will further corrupt the samurai of the rebellious clans, and encourage them to greater acts of dishonor.”

“All the more reason to quash this rebellion swiftly,” Lord Hatano said, driving a fist into his upturned palm.

Before Tetsuya could agree, there was the sound of a horse riding at a fast pace, coming closer to the tent. A messenger rushed in, looking harried and frightened. He hastened to bow before the assembled samurai lords.

“Lord Nagao, Lord Hatano, I bring dire news from the shogun!”

“What news?” Tetsuya advanced on the messenger and seized him by the shoulders. “Speak!”

The man gathered his breath, clearly exhausted from a hard ride. Tetsuya called for one of the servants to bring him water, which he gulped down like a man who had been rescued from a shipwreck. After a few more panting breaths, he spoke.

“It is a terrible thing I have come to tell you, my lord. The two armies met in battle yesterday, on the western side of the valley of Iwakumi. The Yarikawa invoked the ancient rites, and the Yarikawa heir met the son of the shogun in a duel, in the field between the two camps. Young master Junichi Nakidori prevailed in the fight, but then he was shot in the back, by an arrow from a ronin bow!”

Lord Hatano cursed under his breath. The despicable nature of the Yarikawa and their allies clearly knew no boundaries. It was as Tetsuya had said moments ago: the ronin and their dishonorable cowardice had infected the entire rebel army.

“This brought the two armies to clash,” the messenger continued. “In the fight, young master Kichiro Shimura was wounded, gravely, while battling with the Yarikawa heir. But the battle seemed to be winnable…until Clan Oga arrived, flying the banner of the rebels!”

“Damn them!” Lord Hatano shouted. “Damn the bastards!”

“What happened to the shogun?” Tetsuya asked.

“He escaped,” the messenger replied. “Lord Arashikage and the samurai of his clan fought to the death, to give the rest of the army time to retreat across the valley. The shogun requests that you and your army march to Kuta, to combine with his remaining samurai.”

“It will be done,” Tetsuya said. “Get some rest, boy, and then it’s back on the horse. The shogun needs to know that we’re coming, and only a few days’ march away.” He sent the messenger away with an attendant, and then turned to face the other men in the tent.

“This is not good,” he said, as if anyone in the room was unsure. “If the Oga have joined with the rebels, then the balance of power has tipped in their favor. And with the shogun’s heir injured…more neutral clans will begin to consider following the Oga’s example.”

“All the more reason to hurry on to Kuta,” Lord Hatano chimed in. “The rebels may outnumber us, but they do not know about our new allies, or their capabilities. The Yarikawa will be overconfident now. They will make mistakes, and we will exploit them. All is not yet lost.”

[Zaambate Te Ahaa]

"All the more reason for a decisive display." Tibosa, calmly, stepped forward, his head bowed before lord Nagao. "We march to meet the shogun and his survivors, and we continue to march until it is as two waves against one another, us and the rebels. Their morale will be bolstered by their victory, and overconfidence will carry them forward easily into firing range. All the more crushing, then, their defeat before their potential allies' collective eyes, when, expecting water, they run their wave into a wall of bullets instead. A full display of our might now will fully reverse whatever momentum they may have gained, in the eyes of the undecided and the eyes of those who have yet to fight. They have struck first, but we can not allow them to gain ground.

He spoke confidently, as an equal to the men assembled, and Sehu knew in his heart for this to be an error. Or at least, he suspected it strongly, as he translated the oddities of the dialect for the samurai addressed. "You must forgive humble Tibosa Mùsa," he said as he folded his hands. "He is eager to affect the tides in our favor."



Meanwhile, Khemu-the-Merchant was growing most impatient. He always was, truth be told, and this was routine for him, to stand at the docks and stare off into the native waves of Zaambate Té Aháà. It would be a week or more yet before his ships returned, and all that while Khemu took to curse the waves, curse, the gods who carried his ships so slowly. And curse the rebels that were threatening his profits doubly. He had heard nothing from either of his contacts, Sehu, or the general. Khemu skipped a stone into the water and squinted into the sun as a gull screamed overhead.

"Shimono, Shimono... I wonder who will teach me to speak Shimonese. I wonder, how much is it to buy a shogun?" The possibilities raced in Khemu's head, and then he cringed of what sort of debts Sehu may already have been getting him into. He scratched his beard, and decided that it was time to go home for the day. He cursed the waves, and then the rebels, and then squinted once more, as if he could see one of his ships approaching. Khemu-the-Merchant decided to stay for another hour or so, before finally going to the bar, and then home, for real, after a quick walk past the docks. They were on the way, anyways.

[Shimono]

Yagata

The rebel army had returned to Yagata after the battle at Iwakumi. While they had defeated the shogun’s forces and sent them retreating from the field of battle, the clash had been bloody and brutal. The Arashikage samurai had sold their lives dearly, killing and grievously wounding many of the Clan Yarikawa and Clan Takamura samurai, as well as many of the ronin. Clan Oga’s warriors remained unbloodied - Lord Oga had approached slowly, so that the fighting had concluded by the time his samurai entered harm’s way. This meant that their newest ally now had the greatest single number of samurai ready for battle. But this unbalance in strength was far from the minds of the rebel leaders. They were flush with victory. They had sent the shogun running away in shame, and Lord Nakidori had sacrificed his best warriors to escape. Total victory seemed assured.

“Victory!” Lord Yarikawa raised his cup of sake in a toast, standing up from his place at the head of the table where the samurai lords were gathered. “To victory in battle, my friends!”

“Victory!” The cheer echoed from the other men, who raised their own cups and drank.

“Soon all the other clans will see wisdom, and join our cause,” Lord Yarikawa declared. “The shogun’s weakness has been exposed for all to see! And we have destroyed his greatest warriors. I think that as of today, we can start calling Toru here Lord Arashikage. I don’t think there’s anyone else left!”

Toru Arashikage, who had once been cast out his clan, now rose and bowed with exaggerated ceremony to Lord Yarikawa. “Then I shall pledge my clan of one to you, my lord.” This sent another ripple of laughter through the assembled samurai. Lord Oga, seated at a place of honor at the side of Lord Yarikawa, seemed less amused. He kept glancing over to where Rikuto, the leader of the ronin, lounged and threw back cup after cup of sake. His gaze was not an approving one.

Lord Oga leaned over to speak quietly to Lord Yarikawa, once the other man had returned to a seated position. “I wish to speak you with, Lord Yarikawa, about the letter you mentioned.”

“Of course,” Lord Yarikawa replied. “Once the meal is done. But, I believe Lord Takamura has something planned to entertain us first.”

The lord of Clan Takamura, and of Yagata castle, had left the room a few moments earlier. Now he returned, wearing a devilish grin. “You all know the ancient affirmations. ‘What is best in the world?’ The great warriors of the past knew this answer. To crush your enemies! To see them driven before you! And,” Lord Takamura held the pause for a dramatic moment. “To hear the lamentations of the women!”

He clapped his hands, and Suzume Nakidori, the imprisoned daughter of the shogun, was dragged into the room by a ronin - the same one who had foiled the escape attempt of Suzume’s bodyguard a few days earlier. He held a chain in his hand, which led back to a pair of manacles around Suzume’s wrists. The young woman’s clothing was rumpled and stained with dirt from her time in the castle’s dungeon, and her eyes were red from shedding tears. She stumbled and struggled to stay on her feet as the ronin yanked on the chain to pull her further into the room.

“I thought it might be appropriate for the Nakidori family to start learning what it means to serve,” Lord Takamura said. “So Suzume will be bringing out our next course. And she better do a good job!”

Lord Oga bristled in his seat. Lord Takamura had always been slimy, but this behavior was beyond the pale. To publicly humiliate a samurai’s daughter like this…

“After all,” Lord Takamura continued to gloat. “She’ll be needing a new husband, after what my son did to her betrothed!”

Suzume cried out in shocked disbelief. “You’re lying, you snake!”

“I’m telling the absolute truth,” Lord Takamura said. “My son Noboru caught that stupid Shimura boy across the chest. The last anyone saw of him, his retainers were carrying him off the field. With any luck, he’s already dead.”

Suzume fell to her knees and began to sob. Lord Oga leaned over to Lord Yarikawa. “I must speak with you now, my lord.” He rose to his feet and left the room. Lord Yarikawa followed shortly after. The two men walked out of the castle, stopping on a balcony overlooking the central courtyard. It had been transformed into a camp, with neat rows of tents housing the attendants and servants that accompanied the samurai.

“I hope that shameful display was not your suggestion, Lord Yarikawa,” Lord Oga said. “Lord Takamura goes too far.”

“I will speak with him,” the rebel leader said. “He can be…overzealous, in his commitment to our cause. Recall that it was the Nakidori who stripped his ancestors of their ancient titles, throwing them down from among the great clans. I believe it was Clan Oga who rose to take their place…”

“The matter of real urgency,” Lord Oga interrupted. “Is the letter from the Emperor. You said it spoke of his support for your cause. I would like to see it for myself.”

“I should be offended by your lack of trust,” Lord Yarikawa replied tersely. “But I understand your hesitation.” He reached into a fold of his robe and withdrew a small folded piece of parchment. Attached to one fold was a wax seal, bearing the crest of the Ishikawa dynasty. “Here. You may read it for yourself.”

Lord Oga inspected the seal first, to make sure it was genuine. Then he began to read. His brow furrowed in concentration. When he was done, he handed the letter back to Lord Yarikawa.

“I hope that is satisfactory?”

“It answers my questions,” Lord Oga replied. “Thank you, Lord Yarikawa. I think I will retire for the evening.”

[Mareyland]

OOC: this post was written with input and agreement from Shimono

Wilson Page had been wandering across the island of Shimono for several days now. He knew where he needed to go: he had to reach the port of Izumi, to find passage off the island and get word of what had happened to his shipmates back to his goverment. Mareyland surely would not stand for such an attack on its citizens, especially after the shogun had signed a treaty pledging to protect foreigners on the island. But getting from Umugi to Izumi meant crossing the breadth of the island. Wilson had taken a map of the island from the Amity, the ship where he had served as second mate and translator of the Shimonese language. But the map was not very helpful. It showed him nothing about the roads that might connect the two cities, or the terrain that he would have to cross to reach Izumi. All it gave him was a general location to point himself in, and start walking. He hadn't thought to take food or water when he'd snuck back aboard the ship - he'd retrieved the map, his pistol, some clothes, and his stash of money. The cash was all Mareyland currency, and would be worthless until he could get to Izumi and use it to buy passage on another foreign ship. The pistol would be useful in a fight, but he only had the six bullets that the chambers of the revolvers. After those had been fired, the thing only good for clubbing - not a good proposition when everyone around here carried swords.

He'd been fortunate to find streams to drink from, so he wasn't going thirsty yet. Food was another matter. He could feel his stomach tightening. Wilson didn't dare try and guess what plants might be safe to eat - he was born and raised in the city, and was the furthest thing from a naturalist. He had hoped to find food that he could steal, but no lone travelers or isolated homes had presented themselves yet. He didn't want to risk going anywhere near a large town. The attack on the Amity might have been part of some island-wide campaign against foreigners. Even if it wasn't, the ship had violated the law by trying to trade outside of Izumi. If he tried to get help, he might end up arrested, which meant he was as good as dead.

He was, by his estimate, maybe one-third of the way to the Izumi. He'd watched a distant mountain move across the horizon as he walked, and based on some educated guesses with the map he judged himself to be somewhere near the town of Okada. The map listed this as the stronghold of the Oga clan, which meant nothing to Wilson. He was starting to wonder whether the risk of capture outweighed the hunger in his belly, when he saw a thin trail of smoke just over the hill in front of him.

A house, he thought eagerly. Maybe a cooking fire? Hope and anticipation carried him forward to the crest of the hill, but caution led him to drop down to a crawl in case someone was watching. On the other side of the hill, a small house sat at the edge of the forest. The smoke was rising from a fire that had been built outside, in front of the building. Wilson Page's eyes widened as he saw that a large pot was suspended over the fire. Something was cooking. The Shimonese liked to eat some strange foods, but he would consume just about anything at that moment.

His anticipation at getting a meal was disrupted by sounds of shouting from inside the house. The door to the home was open, and suddenly a body went tumbling out and onto the grass. It was a woman, an older woman with graying hair that had been tied in a bun that was now coming undone. She was pleading with the figure standing in the doorway - a shabbily-dressed man with a tall conical straw hat, and a sword at his waist. He was holding an empty bottle in one hand, and shouting down at the woman. Wilson could understand enough to know that he was angry at her for running out of sake. The house certainly didn't look like it was an inn. The angry man advanced towards the woman, when a third voice cried out from behind him. A younger woman rushed out of the door and charged at the man. He swatted her aside contemptuously, and then began to walk towards her with obvious ill intent. The older woman was begging the man to leave her daughter alone. Wilson felt his blood heating up, as he thought his sister back in Mareyland, who had been killed by a drunken assailant in the run-down poor neighborhood of Annesburg where they'd grown up. He got up from his concealed position, drew the pistol from his bag, and started walking down the hill.

The man grabbed for the young woman, who mustered enough strength to send his staggering back with a slap to the face. He cursed, and closed his hand into a fist. Wilson Page raised his pistol at the same time that the man was raising his fist, and pulled the trigger. The heavy revolver barked, and the recoil sent a shudder through Wilson's arm. He had only fired the gun a few times, and never at a person. His shot went wide, and the man was unharmed. He turned towards Wilson, surprise and confusion playing across his face. The man drew his sword and charged towards Wilson, who was fighting against his trembling hand to re-cock the gun for another shot. The Shimonese man covered the distance between them with a speed that belied his drunken state and swung the blade towards Wilson. He ducked out of the way but lost his footing and went sprawling to the ground. Wilson fumbled for the gun as the man advanced on him. He found it lying in the grass, wrapped his hands around the grip, and brought it up to fire...only to experience a terrific pain as the man stabbed him with his sword.

The thrust was off-center, and rather than impaling Wilson it sliced across his side. He cried out in pain, nearly dropping the gun, but he managed to summon the strength to keep his grip and pull the trigger. At such short distance, he would have had to try to miss. The gun went off, another loud crack, and the man stumbled backwards. Blood began to trickle down his chest. Wilson used his other hand to re-cock the gun, then fired again. The second shot struck his would-be attacker near the collarbone, and he fell backwards and landed on the ground, motionless. Wilson Page smiled in triumph, let out a single gasping laugh, and then the pain of his wound sent him into unconsciousness.

[Shimono]

"All the more reason for a decisive display." Tibosa, calmly, stepped forward, his head bowed before lord Nagao. "We march to meet the shogun and his survivors, and we continue to march until it is as two waves against one another, us and the rebels. Their morale will be bolstered by their victory, and overconfidence will carry them forward easily into firing range. All the more crushing, then, their defeat before their potential allies' collective eyes, when, expecting water, they run their wave into a wall of bullets instead. A full display of our might now will fully reverse whatever momentum they may have gained, in the eyes of the undecided and the eyes of those who have yet to fight. They have struck first, but we can not allow them to gain ground.”

Tetsuya Nagao and the other samurai lords considered Tibosa’s words. Lord Hatano nodded his head slightly - the foreign warrior’s words showed not only spirit, but good strategy. His clan’s decision to bring the Ahaang into this alliance seemed to be near to paying off. But it was Tetsuya who held the authority in this camp, and he would make the final decision.

"You must forgive humble Tibosa Mùsa," he said as he folded his hands. "He is eager to affect the tides in our favor."

“And I am glad to hear it,” Tetsuya replied to Sehu. “There is no need to forgive such a strong spirit. And his words align with my own thoughts on the matter. We must deliver a check to the rebels as soon as possible. Fortunately, they will be just as eager to follow up their victory. As you say, Tibosa, they will charge forward and dash themselves against us, like waves against the rocks.”

The army of Nagao, Hatano, and Ahaang marched on to Kuta, only a few days’ distance from their current camp. They arrived to find the city bracing itself for battle: the stewards of the city expected the rebel army to come and begin a siege any day, so they had ordered supplies brought in from the countryside and stockpiled in the stronghold. Along with carts full of rice and other staples, peasants were streaming in for shelter. Armies passing through the countryside always meant hardship for the common people, who would be exposed to the depredations of hungry and bloodthirsty warriors. Already there were tales of rebel ronin attacking homes and farms, stealing food and assaulting women.

The shogun and Lord Shimura were both in the castle at the heart of the city. A healer had come to report on the condition of their injured sons.

“Young master Nakidori is recovering,” the healer informed the shogun. “We were able to remove the arrow and clean the wound. He was fortunate - the arrow did not strike any vital areas. He should heal completely.”

“And what about Kichiro?” Lord Shimura demanded.

The healer suddenly looked much more nervous. “Unfortunately, my lord, your son’s injury was deeper, and in a more vital area. We did all we could to clean and bandage the wound…but it seems an infection has set in.”

“An infection?” Lord Shimura’s anger was immediately deflated by the seriousness of the news. “Will he live, healer?”

“We have done all we can for him,” the healer said. “And we will continue to do everything we can. But these infections are battles within the body. It will be determined by the strength of your son…and the will of the kami.”

The healer bowed and retreated from the room, leaving the shogun and Lord Shimura alone once again. Lord Nakidori placed a hand on Lord Shimura’s shoulder. The shogun had been in his place, many years ago. His wife Misaki had died after a long illness. It was not a fate that he would wish on any friend.

“Kichiro will survive,” he told his most trusted ally. “He is a strong man.”

There was the sound of a bell ringing from the watchtowers around the city. A messenger soon appeared at the threshold of the room. “My lords, it is Clan Nagao and Clan Hatano! They have arrived with reinforcements!”

The samurai and Ahaang warriors were directed to make their camp alongside that of the surviving warriors of the shogun’s army. Tetsuya Nagao and Lord Hatano went to report to the shogun himself, and they requested that Tibosa Musa and Sehu accompany them. Lord Nakidori and Lord Shimura were waiting for them in the audience chamber of the city’s castle. The two newly arrived samurai lords made their genuflections upon entering, and then approached closer.

"My lord," Tetsuya Nagao began. "I bring with me not only the samurai of Clan Nagao and Clan Hatano, but also a new ally in our struggle against these despicable rebels. This is Tibosa Musa, commander of the foreign warriors from across the sea. He has pledged to fight alongside us, and he brings not only skilled fighters, but powerful weapons which have no equal. Together, we will avenge the fallen of Iwakumi!"

"I thank you for your swift response," Lord Nakidori replied. "You have fulfilled your duty, and honored your clan." Then he turned to address the Ahaang. "I received word of your arrival from Lord Nagao. He promises that you are men of honor, and that your aid comes without ulterior motive. I hope that his trust was not misplaced. We shall need every advantage we can obtain, in order to defeat the Yarikawa and the rogues who support them."

[Shimono]

The thrust was off-center, and rather than impaling Wilson it sliced across his side. He cried out in pain, nearly dropping the gun, but he managed to summon the strength to keep his grip and pull the trigger. At such short distance, he would have had to try to miss. The gun went off, another loud crack, and the man stumbled backwards. Blood began to trickle down his chest. Wilson used his other hand to re-cock the gun, then fired again. The second shot struck his would-be attacker near the collarbone, and he fell backwards and landed on the ground, motionless. Wilson Page smiled in triumph, let out a single gasping laugh, and then the pain of his wound sent him into unconsciousness.

Mother and daughter stood in front of their house, looking at the two bodies laying on the grass before them. The ronin, who had barged into their isolated home brandishing his blade and demanding food and sake, lay dead. Blood pooled around him and soaked into the soil beneath his corpse. The other man, the pale-skinned foreigner, lay unconscious. He was still breathing - they could see his chest rising and falling in shallow movements - but he too was bleeding into the grass. The weapon he had used to kill the ronin lay in his limp hand. A thin wisp of smoke still lingered at the muzzle.

“Come,” Kaede, the mother, said to her daughter. “Let’s go inside.”

“But what about him?” Moriko, the daughter, asked her mother. “He saved us, mother! That ronin might have killed us if he hadn’t shown up!”

“Look at him, Moriko,” Kaede said. “He’s a foreigner. A barbarian. He might kill us too!”

“You can hide inside,” Moriko said, full of youthful rebellion. “I’m going to help him.” She walked over to where Wilson Page was laying and began to pull away his shirt, exposing the stabbing wound made by the ronin’s katana. She realized that in order to do anything to help this man, she would need supplies from the house. Feeling embarrassed at having to retrace her steps, she began to walk quickly towards the home.

Kaede sighed. The girl was incorrigible. She had been like that, when she was her daughter’s age. But spending time healing the wounds of samurai killed in pointless petty feuds had made her wise to the way of the world. The ronin who lay dead in front of her was not some exception - he was the norm. Men of the sword who felt entitled to anything and everything, and had no qualms about using violence to get their way.

Still, this white-skinned man with the strange weapon had probably saved their lives. He had certainly saved her daughter’s dignity. And Moriko would insist on trying to heal him on her own if she refused to help, and probably only make things worse. She was a good healer, but she had only had experience in curing sickness or broken limbs. She’d never had to deal with battle wounds before. Kaede sighed.

“Help me bring him inside,” she told Moriko. “Then fetch a washcloth. We will need to clean the wound, then repair it before an infection can set in.”

Moriko smiled brightly. “I knew you would come around!”

Together, the two women carried the unconscious Mareylander back to their home, and set to work cleaning and bandaging the stab wound. Kaede pronounced that the man would live, and likely regain consciousness soon. She made sure to hide the man’s pistol underneath a pile of linens, and she kept the sword of the dead ronin close at hand. She was no samurai, but she’d gotten a few informal lessons back when she’d been a healer for one of the clans. Her half-remembered techniques should be enough to handle a single groggy, injured man.

[Zaambate Te Ahaa]

Upon meeting at last with the remnants of the shogun's army, Tibosa and Sehu both were relieved, though for different reasons. Tibosa loved having his ranks bolstered and loved making a show of welcoming comrades, a host to the end. As they received the shogun's soldiers, he had his men stand and salute, and he led them in a hymn that was equal parts condlence as it spoke of victory to come. With each passing day he grew more and more certain that victory was near, and his brother Ndanje, who that day was acting as a sentinal, knew instinctively that Tibosa was growing eager for battle. He also sensed Sehu was not. Indeed, Sehu was weary of the long march, being an elderly man and unfit for marching, but he was still gladdened to see friends where he had thought he would meet foe, and a spirit of cleverness came on him.

"To protect the assets of Khemu-the-Merchant, the Shimonese Host must be bolstered as with body and rifle. Upon coming to Izumi, we were soon alerted by a great cry of war, and rousing our goodwill we lept up and marched a way out of Izumi, and there came upon a village that had been visited by these rebels and ronin. Though they eluded our bold warriors, as their way is that of stealth unsuspected, in the small village, they made a horrid display that I can not recount in full, so full of blood and the wailing of women and the death of children it was that it is too macabre for a cleric to speak outside of necessary ground. The toll of death was as great as its stench, and I am moved by horror."

"Therefor, in this dire hour, we have marched to Kuta, protecting refugees along the way, and now we are but miles from the rebel army. Their evil is that of dark Anka Manu, and his evil spirit is with the rebels and will bring much death yet unless their forces be halted; to Izumi, and from there wherever by locals directed, the Host of Tibosa requires more arms and men to weild them. In this time of danger, may Jabril speed these words to you, I pray, I pray, I pray. Ever yours, and moved by human plight,
Sehu al Mazari, 8th Order Cleric of Holy Jabril." Sehu would write amd seal this letter in secret, and tell the one called Basá to take the unburdened horse, and speed back to Izumi, to a merchant ship, and back to Khemu at Port Nesu. Khemu, he was sure, would deliver this letter himself to the Nkolé if he had to, and as Basá galloped off back to Izumi, Sehu prepared for the final leg to Kuta.

Later, in the Shogun's Court

Sehu wore his robes of white and carried with him the instruments of his blessing; a ruby in one hand, and a gesture of peace in his other as he bowed his head, hands outstretched and palms upward. Tibosa, however, to be polite, mimed Tetsuya's gestures to the shogun, hoping he was not misguided in his attempt to be polite. Sehu began, "Indeed, you have been told the truth of your servants. I am Sehu al Mazari, an 8th Order Cleric of the Temple of Aháà, representative of the Second Power agent of Jabril. But as I see diplomacy has failed the hearts of our foe, surely, you will take more interes in my companion. Tibosa-the-Dragon, are you presentable?"

The moniker glanced off of him this time, but not likely from those gathered. Though he wore greaves of leather and stone, Tibosa, again, was shirtless, leaving his spiral tattoo of the stylized dragon on his left breast exposed, and the scar it encircled. He had with him his shield, as well, and the stance he took he made himself wide and tense, to display his musculature, keeping his shield off to his side (his shield was similarly themed; a tower shield made of leather from a beast Tibosa killed long ago, reinforced with metal and wood upon the back, with leather straps by which to attach it to his arm. On the front it a painted red, blue and black, as a dragon with a fox in one of its talons, and a laural wreath in the other.) "Presentable, and prepared, Friend Sehu."

"Speak freely, Tibosa-the-Dragon." Sehu stepped back, and Tibosa, muscles flexed all the while, stepped forward into his place and took a focusing breath. All the while he spoke, his head kept bowed in respect, with all the rest of him proud and bold.

"Though Friend-Sehu calls me Tibosa-the-Dragon, rightly I am called Tibosa Mùsa, my lords. At the age of eight I began schooling at the Acadamy of War near Wawaru Te'nga, I began service in the Bounty Hunters' Guild at age 14, and at 22 I joined the military proper. It has been 10 years since, and I have championed my people in two wars, this being my third, and I have fought in one war more where I was in the spear-guard. I have been recognized by both the Bounty Hunters' Guild and the military for my capabilities of unorthodox and malleable strategem. My spare time is donated to the military as a drum major for a military band, as well as I am a drill instructor, for musician and soldier alike. The Recruiters' Guild has hand selected me, specifically, as the champion for the volunteers that I have brought to your country, lords."

"And I am candid, and would not deceive you. I have been hired through the Recruiters' Guild by the money of one Khemu-the-Merchant, who would have had us waiting in Izumi for the rebels to march all the way there and meet us. I distrust Khemu and his ways, but it is by honorable Sehu al Mazari that I come to your court now as a sword for your purpose, instead of as a shield for Khemu's wallet. I have trust of friend Sehu, and I say all this that you may have trust for him and my purpose as well." Finally, Tibosa raised his head. This second speech had caught Sehu unawares, as did the (rightful) denial of his title, but Sehu stayed silent as he awaited the shoguns approval - or lack thereof - of Tibosa's presentation.

Perhaps it seemed a bold gesture; Tibosa, dressed as he was, speaking with a booming voice as he presented his 'credentials', but by the Aháàng such was customary. In Tibosa's mind, he was selling himself in a way, and if the Shimonese thought this display to be disrespectful, Tibosa, and Sehu to an extent, thought to be courteous. It's not like they thought the shogun would wish a stranger to be fighting alongside his generals, after all, and this was the manner by which men of Tibosa's profession introduced themselves. He spoke proudly, but to the Aháàng at least, it seemed that he spoke rather politely.

[Mareyland]

Together, the two women carried the unconscious Mareylander back to their home, and set to work cleaning and bandaging the stab wound. Kaede pronounced that the man would live, and likely regain consciousness soon. She made sure to hide the man’s pistol underneath a pile of linens, and she kept the sword of the dead ronin close at hand. She was no samurai, but she’d gotten a few informal lessons back when she’d been a healer for one of the clans. Her half-remembered techniques should be enough to handle a single groggy, injured man.

Wilson Page came back to life slowly, groaning in discomfort. He struggled to remember the course of events that had left him unconscious. He recalled advancing on the man with the sword, fighting him…had he killed him? Yes, he had, but not before being stabbed. His hand traveled to the place where the blade had pierced him, but instead of an open wound he felt cloth bandages. Someone had patched up the wound.

He tried to sit up, but his arms were still waking up and the effort failed. It did attract attention though. A young woman hurried over, shouting to someone else that he was awake. He tried to rise again, but he felt hands on his shoulders urging him to stay lying down.

“Don’t go so fast,” the young woman admonished. “Your injury is still healing.”

Wilson had many questions, but the first one to spill out of his mouth was, “Where am I?” A sudden flash of insecurity came over him, and he reached out for his pistol. But his hand couldn’t find it. Panic began to rise in his heart. “Where is my…” He didn’t know if Shimonese even had a word for gun. “Where is my weapon?”

[Shimono]

Wilson had many questions, but the first one to spill out of his mouth was, “Where am I?” A sudden flash of insecurity came over him, and he reached out for his pistol. But his hand couldn’t find it. Panic began to rise in his heart. “Where is my…” He didn’t know if Shimonese even had a word for gun. “Where is my weapon?”

“You’re in our house,” Moriko said. Then she giggled. That didn’t mean anything to him, did it? “We’re just a few miles outside of Kishibe, near the Golden Temple.”

“Your weapon is somewhere safe,” Kaede chimed in. “You can have it back when I know that you’re someone safe.”

“You saved our lives,” Moriko said. “If you hadn’t killed that ronin…” The end of that sentence was not something she wanted to think about. “Why are you all the way out here? I thought the foreigners had to stay in Izumi.”

Kuta

The Ahaang warrior, Tibosa-the-Dragon, certainly presented an impressive and imposing sight. His armor was not as impressive as that which the samurai wore, with its elaborate colored lacquer plates. But the culture of the samurai valued bravery and physical courage, and Tibosa’s bare chest spoke to his possession of those traits. Some in the background murmured nervously, noting the imagery of the fox - symbol of the Nakidori family - in the clutches of the dragon on Tibosa’s shield. If the shogun was bothered by the symbolism, he did not show it. He remained calm, or as calm as a man in his position - his son and heir wounded, his dominion threatened by rebellion - could be.

"Though Friend-Sehu calls me Tibosa-the-Dragon, rightly I am called Tibosa Mùsa, my lords. At the age of eight I began schooling at the Acadamy of War near Wawaru Te'nga, I began service in the Bounty Hunters' Guild at age 14, and at 22 I joined the military proper. It has been 10 years since, and I have championed my people in two wars, this being my third, and I have fought in one war more where I was in the spear-guard. I have been recognized by both the Bounty Hunters' Guild and the military for my capabilities of unorthodox and malleable strategem. My spare time is donated to the military as a drum major for a military band, as well as I am a drill instructor, for musician and soldier alike. The Recruiters' Guild has hand selected me, specifically, as the champion for the volunteers that I have brought to your country, lords."

“A warrior with an impressive history,” Lord Shimura commented quietly to the shogun.

“A soldier and musician both,” Lord Nakidori replied. “He would make a fine samurai.”

“Though he has the tattoos of a ronin,” Shimura added wryly. The shogun blew air out through his nose, in perhaps the closest thing he could come to a laugh in such a public and formal setting.

"And I am candid, and would not deceive you. I have been hired through the Recruiters' Guild by the money of one Khemu-the-Merchant, who would have had us waiting in Izumi for the rebels to march all the way there and meet us. I distrust Khemu and his ways, but it is by honorable Sehu al Mazari that I come to your court now as a sword for your purpose, instead of as a shield for Khemu's wallet. I have trust of friend Sehu, and I say all this that you may have trust for him and my purpose as well."

This second admission provoked a ripple of whispers from those around the margins of the gathering. To fight for money was below the honor of a samurai, who fought because it was his duty. Those who sold their sword for money were derided as “gamblers,” and the worst of the gamblers were the ronin, who were disgraced samurai without a master or clan. Was Tibosa-the-Dragon no better than the lowlifes who fought under the rebel banner?

The shogun raised a hand, quieting the room in an instant. “You have shown great courage, Tibosa Musa Ryu.” He appended the word for “dragon” onto the man’s proper name. “Not only in coming to fight for us, but for stepping beyond the dictates of your mission. It is fortunate indeed that you have come to us in this moment of need. I see that your warriors are guided by a leader who is not merely brave, but bold as well. I am honored to have your support.”

That put a stop to any mutterings…at least anywhere that the shogun or his closest friends might hear them. The Ahaang had been fully welcomed into the fold.

“The samurai of my clan, and Clan Shimura, need time to rest and recuperate from the toll of battle. But when they are prepared, we shall march against the rebels. We will not only avenge the fallen of Iwakumi, but we shall wipe this dishonorable stain from the land entirely!”

Hiyoshi

Taro, Crown Prince of Shimono and heir to the great throne of the Emperor, was lounging in his room when his father burst in, like a vicious tornado. The Emperor of Shimono was always serene in the presence of others. He was considered the latest in a dynasty favored by the kami, imbued with a divine essence. He could be nothing less than the perfect avatar of calm and self-control when viewed by his subjects. But now, in the privacy of the Crown Prince’s chambers, his temper was given free reign.

“You idiot boy!” The Emperor wielded a long, thin bamboo cane in one hand, and he slashed down against his son. Taro cried out in alarm and pain as the bamboo sliced into his flesh. Even when it struck clothing, the expensive silks were no samurai armor. Red marks appeared wherever the cane struck. The arrogant facade which Taro wore like a second skin was cut to ribbons. The boy cried out in pain, and he called out for help from his mother.

“Your stupid mother has already gotten her due from me,” the Emperor declared. “But you, foolish, arrogant, insolent boy! Did you think your interference would not be discovered? Do you really think me so ignorant?”

In the pocket of the Emperor’s robes was a letter from Lord Oga, asking for confirmation of what he had read in the letter given to Lord Yarikawa. This was how the Emperor had learned of what his son had promised - that the Ishikawa dynasty supported the rebellion, and wished to see the Yarikawa replace the Nakidori as the dominant clan.

“At least I did something,” Taro whimpered in between cries of pain. “You were going to–”

“Do not presume to know my mind! Whoever wins this rebellion would require my assent to be shogun. That was leverage, which you have thrown away by giving Lord Yarikawa this pledge of support!” The Emperor inflicted a few final blows on Taro, and then let out a long breath. When he spoke again, some of that celestial calm was returning. “They would have had to come before me, seeking my support. Now, you have thrown it away like a whore selling herself for a few miserable ryo…except you have gained nothing in return.”

Taro said nothing. He was curled into a ball, his arms wrapped around his body. Tears of pain trickled down his cheeks. The Emperor turned on him and strode out of the room in silence.

[Zaambate Te Ahaa]

Kuta

In Aháà, all business was conducted through the guilds, and so it has been for millennia, since the ancient merchant cults of Watari, and to this end Tibosa didn't think of himself as a mercenary anymore than he thought of himself as a farmer. "As one sews a field with seeds and waters the fruit, so I sew my fields with bones and water them with blood." he once wrote in his personal journal. He was hired and paid by the guild, but to him it was no different than of he received a paycheck from the military proper, and it didn't occur to him that outsiders would see it differently. He was here for the benefits the guild promised with the job, that being adventure, glory, the cultural experience, and yet another high recommendation. The money was tertiary in his priorities, but it wasn't paltry either. They highballed him when they contacted him, and he allowed them to do so, and left most of the advance with his mother and father at home.

He eased his stance, but still moved broadly to display his stature as he swung his shield up and onto his back. He knew the word ronin now, and he heard it flash past him as the hosts deliberated, but for now he was satisfied with the situation. "My eager flame is tempered with patience, lord. Our enemy will be consumed in time, though we will not move without your deliberation." Tibosa spoke as Sehu moved forward to take over the diplomacy angle of the situation.

"As friend Tibosa-the-Dragon says, we will wait beside you, and will march beside you in accordance when comes the day. I pray of you twice; hospitality, first, for the company which has arrived in Kuta, who will not be as a nuisance in your land, but will dedicate themselves to politeness, security, and the comfort of your people at all possibilities. Second, I pray for counsel, that friend Tibosa be given a seat with your strategists. He is wise in war, and better for your counsel in these present matters than humble Sehu."

His hands were now folded in a prayer of gesture, and his head once again low. He was relieved to have the shogun's graces thus far, but as yet he really wasn't sure he knew where he stood among the rest of the assembly, or ebn in general, and Sehu hadn't half the bravado of Tibosa Mùsa.

[Mareyland]

“You’re in our house,” Moriko said. Then she giggled. That didn’t mean anything to him, did it? “We’re just a few miles outside of Kishibe, near the Golden Temple.”

“Your weapon is somewhere safe,” Kaede chimed in. “You can have it back when I know that you’re someone safe.”

"Kishibe..." Wilson Page said the name slowly. He tried to remember the map, to put the name into relation to the other places. How far had he come from Umugi? How much further to go to reach Izumi? The young woman said it was near the Golden Temple. That was near the center of the island - or at least he thought it was. He'd heard stories about the great Golden Temple, the religious center for the people of Shimono. He'd sometimes wondered what it looked like. He never imagined that he might be so close, or the path that would bring him so close.

Then the older woman - probably the younger woman's mother - said that she had hidden his pistol. His heart began to beat faster. He was defenseless. What if they had alerted the authorities? Foreigners were not supposed to travel beyond the walls of Izumi unless given special permission. Missionaries who snuck out to preach to would-be Shimonese converts had been executed when discovered and captured. Was he about to face the same fate, the death that he had so narrowly escaped at Umugi?

“You saved our lives,” Moriko said. “If you hadn’t killed that ronin…” The end of that sentence was not something she wanted to think about. “Why are you all the way out here? I thought the foreigners had to stay in Izumi."

"I...we made a mistake," Wilson said.

He sighed, and the exhaustion and fear of the last few days washed over him. Even this new spike of anxiety could not stand before how tired he suddenly felt. The scenes of the massacre aboard the Amity played in his mind.

"I was on a ship," he explained. "We sailed into a place called Umugi. My captain...he thought he could trade there. But they attacked us. I was the only one who survived. I need to get to Izumi, and find a ship home. I need to tell my nation what happened."

[Shimono]

"My eager flame is tempered with patience, lord. Our enemy will be consumed in time, though we will not move without your deliberation." Tibosa spoke as Sehu moved forward to take over the diplomacy angle of the situation.

"As friend Tibosa-the-Dragon says, we will wait beside you, and will march beside you in accordance when comes the day. I pray of you twice; hospitality, first, for the company which has arrived in Kuta, who will not be as a nuisance in your land, but will dedicate themselves to politeness, security, and the comfort of your people at all possibilities. Second, I pray for counsel, that friend Tibosa be given a seat with your strategists. He is wise in war, and better for your counsel in these present matters than humble Sehu."

The city of Kuta was the domain of Clan Adachi. They were among the middle tier of clans - below the titans like the Shimura or Yarikawa, but of greater importance than a minor clan like the Hatano. They were firmly loyal to the Shogun, and their samurai joined those of Clans Nakidori, Shimura, Hatano, and Nagao in the sprawling camp outside the city walls. Yoshiro Adachi, leader of the clan, joked that his city was like a hammock with a sumo wrestler climbing in, sagging under the weight. To residents of Kuta, the streets felt clogged with people and carts full of supplies.

The Ahaang were a source of curiosity for the people of Kuta. Tales of the strange warriors spread through the city, and soon any one of Tibosa's men who walked through the city might find themselves followed by a group of excited children, shouting questions in Shimonese. Adults on the streets often kept a polite distance, but watched the Ahaang with interest as they passed by. Merchants hawked goods from market stalls and stores, eager to take advantage of the sudden influx of new potential customers. Men and women with small carts went into the camps to offer food and baubles. Prostitutes also began to ply their trade, despite efforts to keep them away from the camp.

Tibosa was, as Sehu requested, invited to sit in meetings with the Shogun and the other clan leaders. At the first grand meeting, Lord Adachi put on a display of hospitality. After a grand meal, musicians and dancers performed for the assembled notables. This was kabuki, a form of dance-drama. The dancers told a comic, somewhat ribald story of a put-upon man who eventually punishes his nagging wife - the Yarikawa rebellion distilled to domestic comedy. The Shogun, as usual, remained stoic throughout the performance, though his lips did quirk upwards in the hint of a smile. The other samurai lords laughed and applauded the performance.

When the meeting truly began, the question that the Shogun and his allies had to answer was simple: how best to strike back against the rebels? Crossing Iwakumi once again was the shortest route, but also the most obvious and most difficult for a large army to traverse. It was Lord Nagao who suggested that the army travel north, around the rocky valley, and march on the city of Okada - the Oga stronghold.

"The Oga betrayal must be punished, if the other clans are to be kept faithful," Lord Nagao explained. "And Lord Oga will not permit a threat to Okada. He will urge the whole rebel army to march to its relief - and right into our clutches."

The rebel army was larger, but numbers could be neutralized by good defensive position. And the Ahaang weapons, with their great killing power at range, would be a secret weapon for which the Yarikawa and their fellow traitors would have no answer. It seemed like a sound strategy.

Lord Nagao turned to the leader of the foreign warriors. "What do you think, Tibosa Musa Ryu?"

"I was on a ship," he explained. "We sailed into a place called Umugi. My captain...he thought he could trade there. But they attacked us. I was the only one who survived. I need to get to Izumi, and find a ship home. I need to tell my nation what happened."

"The Kagawa hate foreigners," Kaede said, nodding. "Your captain was a fool to try and trade in Umugi."

"Mother!" Moriko snapped. "That is a mean thing to say about a dead man. Besides, he was a foreigner! How was he supposed to know?"

"Moriko, go fetch more water," Kaede said in a tone that left no room for argument.

When the young woman had, reluctantly, stepped outside to go to the well, Kaede drew closer to Wilson Page.

"I am thankful for your help with the ronin," she said quietly but firmly. "But your presence here endangers us. Harboring foreigners is already forbidden. And the Yarikawa are in rebellion, and they have no greater love for foreigners than the Kagawa. If their warriors find you here, it will mean death - for all of us. So as soon as you are healed, you must leave immediately. I will show you how to reach Izumi."

[Mareyland]

When the young woman had, reluctantly, stepped outside to go to the well, Kaede drew closer to Wilson Page.

"I am thankful for your help with the ronin," she said quietly but firmly. "But your presence here endangers us. Harboring foreigners is already forbidden. And the Yarikawa are in rebellion, and they have no greater love for foreigners than the Kagawa. If their warriors find you here, it will mean death - for all of us. So as soon as you are healed, you must leave immediately. I will show you how to reach Izumi."

"That is all I want to do," Wilson Page answered. "The sooner I am away from here, the better." He had no desire to be found out here, and end up in the hands of these Yarikawa rebels that Kaede spoke of. Now that he had avoided death not once, but twice, he was eager to deny fate a third opportunity to try its hand at killing Wilson Page.

"Give me my pistol - my weapon," he said. "I promise, I will not harm you or your daughter. But if these warriors come before I can leave, you will need my help, and the weapon is not familiar to you. If you or your daughter try to use it, you could hurt yourselves or each other. Please," he pleaded. "Let me defend myself."

[Zaambate Te Ahaa]

The War Room

In the joviality of the macabre gathering Tibosa finally found himself at home. Without restraint, but with the politeness he was warned to have, he prayed over the food, and even when nearing fullness he endeavored to finish each bite. At the presentation, he was reserved. At home, in such a setting, the mood would have been drastically different. To guffaw, loudly and with comment would have been the norm in Aháà, suiting a comedy performance, but here he trapped his thundering laughter in his breast, smiling with open teeth instead as he maintained his composure. He did let slide, however, "yes; so life shall soon immitate art" to the one sitting beside him once the wife finally received her comeuppance.
And then the mood all around shifted, and they set to the grim task at hand. He listened, sullen, patient, nodding. "I see clear wisdom laid out in the plan, and the reasoning is sound. But, for every head of the hydra which is cut, two more will grow in its place. We must take caution that in punishing this treason we are not giving more cause to otherwise innocent people to join with the rebels. For a rebel's cause, the common man is not only the easiest to slay, but more importantly, the easiest to sway. I fear dragging the fight into Oga itself will make us seem as conquerors, and not adjudicators of the wicked, as we see ourselves to be. If we beseige Oga, but do not enter, then the firmness of our hands will be more a spectre over the peoples' heads than an iron boot on their throat, and such should be sufficient to draw the attention of our foemen, as the original intention." It was not a disagreement, but a cautioning.
"If the terrain is favorable around Oga," he began to add his own thoughts now. "Then upon the arrivals of our foe, we may take sight of their forces with our scouts, and feign a retreat, in the way a snake rears back before it strikes. They follow us to a landscape that affords us the advantage, despite our numbers, and as the snake's recoil is only preperation for the death blow, so then our victory becomes doubly assured." He worried this would possibly sound dishonorable to those around him, but he pitched it regardless. Tactically it was sound, in theory, and Tibosa was regarded well in his home country for his tactical decisions. Whether or not such a suggestion would be valued here, however, was yet to be seen.

The Spectacle at Kuta

The poor merchant had been dragged a very long way from Izumi by the band of Aháàng volunteers who, for lack of better word, loved him as if he were among their ranks from the moment they set out from the Whispering Coast. At Kuta , he was found to be most pivotal to their shenanigans, which they set to with immediacy. Already they were a spectacle to behold, and they knew this well. Why not, then, give the people what they came for. The one with his arm slacked around the merchant now was Gene (as in, 'geh-neh', as opposed to 'Jean'), and Gene was a trickster who saw his fortune coming together in the town square.
"For the children," Gene instructed. "Tell them to bring me three things: kindling, wood for fire, and their favorite meats and vegetables. Warinate - Warinate! Come to me - go to the stalls there in the market, find me garlic and sage if you can." And he waited then, a moment, for everything to come together before telling the merchant (who they addressed not by name, but as Merchant-Friend-of-Fortune, or "Hanatasi-mfusi-gawane") that it was imperative that he copy his tone and energy without faltering. When all the ingrediants came together, he instructed a few soldiers on hand to build the fire, and fill a small pot with water, but to leave it aside from the fire. This gave them mirth, for they knew what Gene had at hand, and even those slower to catch on among the Aháàng volunteers would have known when they saw the ball of iron which Gene palmed in his hand that it was time for the national dish of Aháà.
Gene took his club in one hand, and a large tin of metal in the other, and began to bang them together as he called out 'walé, walé, walé'. As the din rang loud and drew a startled crowd of all ages, Merchant-Friend-of-Fortune began to translate. "Gather, gather, gather, and witness a miracle produced by the hands of Gene-Ever-Honest. For now he has marched a long time, and hunger comes to him, and it is how he sates it that will leaved you astonished. For today, before your very eyes, you will witness as Gene-Ever-Honest prepares his most favorite dish - stone soup!" Gene, who was rarely honest, held the little iron ball aloft in his hands then, and continued to speak, pointing to first and adult, then a child, and to an adult once more as Merchant translated that "You are not likely to believe your eyes - this little one may! - but again, you are likely to not, as Gene-Ever-Honest will now bring the soup to boil, without the pot ever once having touched the flames."
Gene held the little ball aloft for all to see once more, and even gave it to some to touch, inviting proof to the crowd that the stone was not already pre-heated by any means. With a bow, he placed it into the center of the small wooden firepit that his compatriots had crafted, and waited, still gesticulating and expounding on the magic of the cooking stone, as he waited for the fire to properly build as the men behind him worked to light it.
Elsewhere, most of the Aháàng volunteers were more behaved as they made their way through the market places. They'd brought their savings, many of them, and spent much of their military paychecks, each looking for the most wonderful trinket for their wife, a blade for their son or brother, or art for their own honor. They brought a hefty sum, and they spent without restraint. Anything made in Shimono - surely, anything - was about to appreciate in value severely once it made it back to the home isles.

[Shimono]

“If we besiege Oga, but do not enter, then the firmness of our hands will be more a specter over the peoples' heads than an iron boot on their throat, and such should be sufficient to draw the attention of our foemen, as the original intention.” It was not a disagreement, but a cautioning. “If the terrain is favorable around Oga,” he began to add his own thoughts now. “Then upon the arrivals of our foe, we may take sight of their forces with our scouts, and feign a retreat, in the way a snake rears back before it strikes. They follow us to a landscape that affords us the advantage, despite our numbers, and as the snake's recoil is only preparation for the death blow, so then our victory becomes doubly assured.” He worried this would possibly sound dishonorable to those around him, but he pitched it regardless. Tactically it was sound, in theory, and Tibosa was regarded well in his home country for his tactical decisions. Whether or not such a suggestion would be valued here, however, was yet to be seen.

“Tibosa Musa Ryu speaks wisely,” Lord Nagao told the assembled samurai lords. “And in agreement with the plan I present. We do not need to even besiege Okada. Merely the threat of our advance will bring the Oga running to protect their home, and they will drag the rest of the traitors with them. Then, as he said, we shall rear back and strike like the snake.”

“It is a sound plan,” Lord Adachi said. One hand stroked his chin. “But there is one concern. What if the rebels divide their forces? You would have us commit our whole army to this march. What if the Oga come to meet us, but the rest go elsewhere? You would gamble on leaving Kuta defenseless.”

“The Oga have the largest army, and the only one unbloodied by Iwakumi,” Lord Shimura replied. “If the Yarikawa and the rebels do make a separate march, they will lack the strength to force the walls.”

“And Lord Yarikawa will want to be seen as ensuring the safety of his new ally,” Lord Nagao added. “He will also fear that if the Oga go alone, they might negotiate a change in allegiance. He will want to keep them close. The Oga are the keystone,” Lord Nagao emphasized. “Remove them, and the structure of this rebellion is fatally weakened.”

The other samurai seemed convinced by this argument. Lord Adachi remained skeptical, for the plan would leave his stronghold without a strong garrison, and the obvious next target of the rebels.

“If your concern is so great, Lord Adachi,” the Shogun said at last. “Then you may retain your warriors here, to defend your home.”

“My lord, we will need every blade to face the traitors,” Lord Shimura said quietly. “The Adachi are unbloodied, and strong. A hunter does not set out with a quiver half-full.”

“And if I command the Adachi, then what?” The Shogun whispered back. “Would you have them marching along, sullen and resentful?”

“I am confident in our warriors,” the Shogun said to the whole room. “Clan Shimura, Clan Nagao, Clan Hatano. With these samurai, we can accomplish our goal. I will not ask the Adachi to sacrifice the safety of their home. And,” the Shogun added with a look at Tibosa. “We have our new allies.”

“I hope that my caution proves unwarranted,” Lord Adachi said, bowing low. “But I thank you, my lord, for permitting me this measure. If Lord Nagao’s plan succeeds, and the threat to Kuta is lifted, then we shall join you immediately.”

That seemed to settle the matter. The war council now turned to the details of the campaign. Maps of the island, and the land around Okada specifically, were spread out on a great table to use in planning the route of march.

“Gather, gather, gather, and witness a miracle produced by the hands of Gene-Ever-Honest. For now he has marched a long time, and hunger comes to him, and it is how he sates it that will leave you astonished. For today, before your very eyes, you will witness as Gene-Ever-Honest prepares his most favorite dish - stone soup!” Gene, who was rarely honest, held the little iron ball aloft in his hands then, and continued to speak, pointing to first an adult, then a child, and to an adult once more as Merchant translated that, “You are not likely to believe your eyes - this little one may! - but again, you are likely to not, as Gene-Ever-Honest will now bring the soup to boil, without the pot ever once having touched the flames.” Gene held the little ball aloft for all to see once more, and even gave it to some to touch, inviting proof to the crowd that the stone was not already pre-heated by any means. With a bow, he placed it into the center of the small wooden firepit that his compatriots had crafted, and waited, still gesticulating and expounding on the magic of the cooking stone, as he waited for the fire to properly build as the men behind him worked to light it.

The words of the Ahaang merchant soon gathered a crowd of people in a cluster in front of the firepit. They were curious to see what the foreigner was talking about, and intrigued by his claims. People jostled for a better view, waiting to see what Gene would do with the solid ball in his hands.

[Warriorium]

"COMO SE ATREVIERON A CONTINUAR..." Dijo calmadamente el Thanos II "Chavo del 8", emperador del imperio sin nombre.

Sin importar de lo que estaba pasando en esta guerra, el otra vez repitio lo que hizo el meses atras. Hizo un chasquido que hace que se desvanezcan todos que estan involucrados en esta guerra.

Calmer now.

[Mareyland]

The journey across the rest of Shimono had been slightly less perilous for Wilson Page. The woman and her daughter had given him suitable clothing, so while his white skin would still mark him as a foreigner he would be less obviously dressed as one. Of course, Kaede and Moriko had no men's clothing in their home. They had taken the clothes off the dead ronin, washed off the dirt and blood, and repaired the holes made by his pistol's shots. It felt strange to wear the clothing of a man he had killed.

"Stay off the main road, but follow it from a distance," Kaede had cautioned him. He did as she suggested, keeping out of sight of any patrols on the road. A few times he had to lay in the brush, holding his breath as someone passed close by. But he managed to avoid discovery until he could see the walls of Izumi in the distance. And he thought he made out a Mareyland flag flying from the mast of a ship in the harbor. Of course, getting to the trade vessel would not be easy. Foreigners were forbidden to leave the walls of Izumi, so obviously he could not simply walk through the gate. Even worse, he was wearing Shimonese clothes, so the city guards would assume he was a missionary who had been sneaking around the countryside preaching.

His opportunity came that evening, when a small convoy appeared on the road heading towards the city. A few large wagons hauled by beasts of burden, escorted by a party of armed guards. It was probably full of silks and other trade goods, bound for the city where they'd be snapped up by the foreign merchants. The caravan stopped for the evening outside the city and made camp, which gave Wilson Page the opportunity to sneak into the back of a covered cart and hide himself under some tapestries. From there it was a tense waiting game. He tried to avoid making even the slightly noise as the cart rolled along the dirt road and through the gates. Once it was inside the city, he took the first chance to sneak out the back of the cart.

Safety was so close he could taste it. Wilson ran down the streets, racing towards the Mareyland clipper ship he had seen from afar. It was still sitting there, tied up at the docks. A pair of crewmen were loitering around the gangplank, standing a half-hearted guard. They eyed Wilson with confusion and suspicion as he approached.

"Who are you supposed to be?" One man asked him, resting a hand on a pistol stuck into his waistband.

"My name is Wilson Page," he replied, gasping for breath after his sprint. "I need to get back to Mareyland, as soon as possible."

[Shimono]

Spirits among the samurai of the shogun's army were high as the army marched out of Kuta. Even with the Adachi remaining behind to defend their stronghold, the added warriors from Clan Nagao and Clan Hatano had brought their strength to a level higher than it had been before the bloody defeat at Iwakumi. Even that setback now fueled the warriors' fire - the story of how the shogun's heir had been so despicably betrayed and struck from behind by the ronin's arrow had spread among the ranks during their time at Kuta. The samurai were eager to avenge this insult against the son of their lord, and repay the Yarikawa and their allies for their treachery.

Marching through the countryside added more emotional fuel to the fire: the rebellion had bred disorder like a swamp bred disease. The clans had called all their samurai to arms, leaving no one to keep the peace. Roving bandits and opportunistic ronin had taken advantage of the vacuum to rampage through isolated and undefended villages. The marching army passed by the burnt skeletons of homes and hasty graves dug for slaughtered farmers. There was little that the samurai could do - the culprits vanished like fog, burned away by the sunrise, as the shogun's army marched past.

"The Yarikawa have many crimes to answer for," Lord Shimura commented bitterly as he rode at the head of the army.

Tetsuya Nagao nodded gruffly from the horse next to him. "The reckoning will come," he said. "This campaign will be the first step."