Swords of Exodus
http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=1476736111

The Drowning Empire is a weekly serial based on the events which occured during the  Writer Nerd Game Night monthly Legend of the Five Rings game.  It is a tale of samurai adventure set in the magical world of Rokugan.

If you would like to read all of these in one convenient place, along with a bunch of additional game related stuff, behind the scenes info, and detailed session recaps, I’ve been posting everything to one thread on the L5R forum,  http://www.alderac.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=295&t=101206

This week’s episode was written by Brad Torgersen, and here Brad demonstrates why he got nominated for a Hugo, Campbell, and Nebula award in the same year. This is the sort of thing he writes for kicks after a gaming session. Leave it to Brad to come up with a tragic love story, (oh, and believe me, it gets tragic. Akira Kurosawa would be proud).

Continued from: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2013/04/12/the-drowning-empire-episode-15-the-one-armed-lion/

Evening draws down on the Dragonspine.  A crown of thick clouds bundle about the peaks.  Pregnant with water from the sea, the clouds slowly empty their bellies onto the thick forests below.  Villages cluster amidst the trees, made from mortared rock, hewn bamboo, and other woods harvested off the mountainside.  Houses glow softly from within, their kiln-baked, clay tile roofs becoming slick with rain.  Paper lamps illuminate covered verandas and walkways that look out across the beautifully-terraced foothills below, and the gray-filtered gloaming of evening above.

Tamori Isao, survivor of the Topaz Championship of Rokugan, sits with his back to the sliding paper wall of his father’s house.  Tamori Kenta, patriarch of the family, sits to Isao’s right, eyes staring at nothing.  Two tiny sake cups and a bottle are on a tray in front of them.  The bottle is mostly full; their initiatory drink was a formality.  With the celebratory retellings and pleasantries of Isao’s return having been dispensed with, it’s time to get down to business.

“When I sent you to represent the Tamori at the Championship,” Kenta says, his baritone voice soft but stern, “I knew I would be losing Isao the boy and gaining Isao the man.  But I never wanted nor intended for you to see so much horror.”

Isao merely stares.  The misty drizzle beyond the veranda matches his mood.

“I know, Father,” Isao says.  “Very little about the Topaz Championship passed as expected.  Except for perhaps my mediocre showing in the final point tally.”

Kenta snorts.  “I care nothing for the standings.  The Championship is a place for courtiers and bushi alike to preen and strut, like Crested Serpent Eagles dancing with Peacocks.  What matters is that you were present for the events surrounding the Topaz.  Your engagement with the beast of the Ivory Kingdoms, and the rogue ronin in the swamp, your besting of the ronin’s companion shugenja, and your involvement in the repeated defense of the Heir, have all placed you at the center of things for which there cannot yet be a reckoning.”

Isao does not reply.  He feels his father is ticking off a list of academic declarations before launching into the meat of his questions.  Kenta has purposefully avoided making specific inquiries until all other family and servants have been sent away for the night.  It’s now between two shugenja, the junior and the senior.  Their confidentiality is tacit.

“Yet,” Kenta says carefully, “I see in your eyes that there is more.  Something lingers at the edge of your lips.”

Isao frowns.  He has promised not to speak of a specific thing.  But he has never been able to keep secrets from his Father.  Even when he utters no words, his heart yells them through the expressions on his face.  Sighing, Isao turns to face Kenta.

“There was a woman.”

Kenta’s eyes widen ever so slightly, then the slightest of smiles crooks up the corners of Kenta’s mouth.  He deftly refills the sake cups, offering one to his son.

“Who was she?” Kenta asks before they tip the cups back, swallowing the potent liquor.

“Mantis,” Isao replies.  “A bushi.”

“Bushi,” Kenta says, somewhat surprised.  “Another contestant in the Topaz?”

“Yes,” Isao says.  “Her name is Yoritomo Kakeko.”

“The tournament is only a handful of days long,” Kenta says, “I did not think you would be there long enough to make a girlfriend.”

“This is more than a mere batting of eyelids between teenagers,” Isao says, his tone serious.  Kenta’s smile vanishes and he leans over to stare into his son’s eyes.

“You have made love to her,” Kenta says.

“Yes,” Isao replies.

“She is your first?”

“Yes.”

Kenta considers, a tongue running along the inside of one cheek.

“Tell me more about her.”

“Well, she is a ship-rider like all the rest of her—”

“No, no, no, my son, tell me about her.  How did the both of you come to be together?”

“I should not say these things.  I have promised to not say them.  But you are my Father and I have longed to counsel with you from the first morning after Kakeko and I shared a bed.”

“Say what you must.”

Isao swallows hard and closes his eyes briefly, remembering Yoritomo Kakeko’s hot breath in his ear as her muscular arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him down onto her…

“We were opponents in the Sumo,” Isao says, “she threw me so quickly and with such skill, there was no contest.  Yet, from that first sparring contact, there seemed to be a spark between us.  I watched her through the rest of the Sumo, and for the remainder of the day.  After the combat with the Ivory Kingdoms beast in the swamp, news of the victory followed all of my cohort and I back to the Laughing Carp.  Kakeko was there.  I made an excuse to speak with her, but it seemed immediately that she had also wished to speak with me too.”

“And what did she say?”

“Formalities at first.  You know how the bushi are, especially the women bushi.  When in the presence of other bushi, their words are armored and hard.  It did not help that one of her cousins, Yoritomo Oki, of my cohort, attempted to embarrass me.”

“You said he was a woman-chaser,” Kenta interrupts.

“Yes,” Isao replies.

“Simple, you were cutting in on his territory.”

“So I assumed,” Isao continues, “and it would have been the end, because Kakeko could not believe nor understand why I am afraid of the ocean.”

“Oki revealed this?”

“He did.”

“Not at all sportsman-like.”

“I did not think so, but then, Oki was half-drunk.”

“Drunk men sometimes do rude things for the humor of it.”

“I was mortified, and ready to strangle Oki.  Kakeko moved to leave me, but something told me I should not let her go.  I raised a hand and called for her to halt.  I politely pleaded with her to stay and talk.  I don’t know why I expected a woman bushi to be receptive to a shugenja of a different clan—especially one she’d defeated in the ring.  Yet she countered my plea with an offer that we both depart the Laughing Carp and take the night air of Tsuma.”

“Which you did.”

“We did.”

“As comrades?”

“At first, yes.”

“When did that change?”

“When we were beyond the noise and banter of the Laughing Carp, I sensed a change in her.  The hardness of her demeanor softened.  We talked about the water, and the mountains.  She has never been to the mountains, and considers them to be as alien and foreboding as the sea is to me.  It became a point between us to discuss our fears.  At first I was ashamed, but when Kakeko did not mock or draw away from me, my shame turned to confidence.  I divulged all: the caravan in which I travelled with Mother as a boy, while you were away on Tamori business for the Empire, the sojourn to the sea, the tsunami that swept in during the night as the caravan camped on what had seemed to be a peaceful beach, and Mother’s cries as she and I clung to separate pieces of driftwood, and Mother’s voice growing distant, every distant, and then…”

Isao looks away, the tears welling in his eyes.

“I know the story too well, there is no need to relive it, my son,” Kenta says, placing a hand on Isao’s shoulder.

Isao recomposes himself.

“So you have shown this woman bushi your heart,” Kenta says.

“Yes.”

“Is that when she went with you to your room?”

“No, it was I who went with her to her room.  Under pretense of her showing me some of her family’s strange heirlooms from their travels across the sea.  It was very late, and had I been less tired and more sensible, I’d have returned to my cohort.  But I was curious about the heirlooms, and the longer we spent time talking, the more intoxicating she became.  Her lips invited like the petals of Lotus flowers.  They proved soft and warm, as did her breasts beneath her kimono.  I felt as if both my mind and loins were consumed be fire as she pulled me onto her futon, her every movement as deft and skilled as when we opposed each other in the Sumo match.  Her hands and her mouth moved liked magic over my body.  I could not resist her.  So much so that before long the student became the master.  She accepted my aggressiveness gratefully, and encouraged me with vigor.  We did not sleep until the first brightening of dawn began to turn the sky purple.  And then we arose exhausted as the first bells of the Topaz rang through Tsuma’s streets.  The competition would not wait.  When I left her, she made me swear to keep it all between us only.  No one could know.  Especially not the other contestants.  I have kept all of this locked up in my soul during the weeks of travel back from Crane country.”

Kenta’s eyes seem to go far away.  He is listening, and yet he is remembering too.

“Father?”

Kenta allows himself a low, knowing chuckle.

“When women take up the blade-oath of the samurai, they forsake much of what it means to be female.  But unless they are the sort of women who prefer other women, they are still women.  Does that make sense?

“Yes Father, but how do you know this?”

Kenta pauses, toying with his sake cup, refills both it and Isao’s, and together they swallow the burning liquid.

“I have never told you this.  I never even told your Mother.  But before you were born, in the days before I was married, I too met and bedded a woman bushi.”

Isao startles.

“You did??”

“Yes.  Oh, don’t look so shocked.  You might ask me how it happened, and I would tell you to look in the mirror of a calm koi pond.”

Isao waits, suddenly fascinated.

Kenta clears his throat, wiping a hand experimentally across his mustache.

“Her name was Maoura and she was of the Unicorn—like your friend Subotai.  I met her during one of my Imperial visits into Unicorn lands at the behest of our Daimyo, who wanted to learn if the shugenja of the Unicorn had anything to teach the Tamori.  Maoura was assigned to me as my yojimbo.  At first she ignored me.  The bushi of the Great Clans are not always respectful of shugenja, regardless of our heritage.  But when I brought the power of the kami to bear against a host of hill bandits intent on robbing our company, she became curious.  We started talking.  Within a week she was sharing my bed.”

Isao stares at his father, as if to stare at a stranger.

Kenta chuckles once more.

“It was discreet, of course.  I don’t know that anyone else in our company knew.  I too was sworn to secrecy.”

“Amazing,” Isao says.

Seemingly relieved of the weight of his long silence, Kenta becomes effusive.

“I have a theory about women bushi who take shugenja as lovers.  It’s something Maoura told me one evening, as we lay together; spent and sleepy.  She told me that for one bushi to love or make love to another bushi, it is forever a game of power and dominance.  A battle for control.  Proverbial katanas and bisentos, striking and counter-striking.  As a shugenja, and especially as a shugenja from another Clan, I did not threaten Maoura the way a fellow samurai would have.  She said she felt safe with me.”

Isao snaps his fingers, “Yes, this is what Kakeko told me too!”

“With us,” Kenta says, “the women bushi are free to be women.  You and Kakeko may have been opponents in the Topaz, but that was a short-lived and artificial arrangement.  As a Tamori, you demonstrated your power in the swamps.  You defeated your rival shugenja as any samurai would defeat another samurai in open battle.  You demonstrated bravery and strength, which all women desire in men, and yet your strength as a shugenja is not that of a samurai per se, thus you are not a challenge to Kakeko’s mastery of herself, nor her standing among other samurai.”

Isao considers at length, toying with the idea of taking another drink, but decides to abstain.  Now it is he who has questions.

“What happened with Maoura?”

“What was destined to happen,” Kenta says.  “When the mission was completed and I returned to Dragon lands, we parted ways.  Regretfully, of course.  I found her exotic as well as beautiful, and her physical strength was delicious during the act of love.  But our destinies were not aligned.  It was a chance affair, and fondly remembered.  So much so that after your mother died I actually made discreet inquiries through the Emerald Magistrate’s various lines of communication between the Great Clans.  Last I knew of her, Maoura was married and teaching at one of the Moto dojos.”

“Moto Subotai might be her relative!’  Isao exclaims.  “She might have been his sensei!”

Kenta pauses, thinks, and shrugs, “I suppose it is possible.  If the Fortunes swirl at all between the Moto and the Tamori, it may explain why yourself and Subotai developed a bond during the Topaz.  When you see him again, you might inquire about Maoura.”

Isao remains quiet for many minutes as he and his father listen to the gentle rain drumming on the roof, and on the leaves of the trees around their home.

“I feel as if I love her,” Isao confesses.

“Of course you do,” Kenta says.  “I felt the same way.  Kakeko will always be a part of you now.  She was your first woman, and in this way she is immortal in your mind.”

“No, Father, I believe there is more to it than that.  Yoritomo Kakeko, she seems to be… I feel as if… I feel as if she has been placed in my path for a reason.  It is fate.”

Kenta straightens up.  “Then you intend to pursue her?”

“No,” Isao says.  “She is betrothed to Yoritomo Naoto, a merchant of some standing in the Mantis Clan.”

“Then you must forsake her,” Kenta says, almost as if ordering it.

“But she professes no love for this merchant,” Isao protests.

“Not everything under the sky is arranged for our desires,” Kenta says sternly.  “Be grateful that you held this woman in your arms for the time allowed between you at the Topaz, and savor her memory.  But do not hope for more.  It is done.  Over.”

Isao sighs.  He does not dare challenge his Father on the matter.  But hope and passion linger in his heart, even as the light of possibility seems to slowly go out.  He still feels a connection to Kakeko.  A connection he doubts he can simply put down and walk away from, like one might misplace a water jug at the well.

Kenta slowly stands, his hand motioning for Isao to join his father at the veranda rail.

Together the father and son look out into the wet night.

“Knowing your fear of the water,” Kenta says, changing the subject, “I am amazed the overturning of the Heir’s barge did not drive you mad.”

“I have nightmares,” Isao admits.  “About them I also desire counsel.”

“Are they the same ones you’ve always had, about your Mother?”

“No, they are new.  I am aboard the barge as the river sweeps up and dispenses with the Heir’s soldiers.  Over and over again, I experience the terror of the barge capsizing, rolling, splintering, and this time I am pulled under.  I cannot breath.   There is no hope.  Icy hands reach up and take my legs, and I am pulled down to death.  When I awake I am soaked in sweat, and my throat feels raw, as if I have been screaming without actually making sound.”

“How often do they come?”

“Usually every night.”

“What about the nights they do not come?”

“I dream of… her.”

“I see.  So you experience either agony or ecstasy.”

Kenta lays a hand gently on Isao’s shoulder.

“My son, it is a heavy burden you now bear on your shoulders.  Were it within my power to call down the kami and erase from you all memory of these terrible things, I might do it.  But I have no such power, and since you seek my counsel on this and other matters, I would give it.”

“I hear you, Father, and I implore your wisdom.”

“Very well,” Kenta says, placing both hands on the rail and staring intently into the night.  Only the gently flickering of the paper lanterns reveals Kenta’s grimace as he prepares to offer judgment on all that he has been told.

“Rokugan has a new enemy.  The Great Clans will be slow to see it, and will instead look to turn the attack on the Heir to their exclusive advantage.  But if what Moto Subotai and Yoritomo Oki told you is true, this is a threat from the outside, perhaps working in concert with an internal enemy already well hidden; and waiting only for the chance to strike against us.

“The Fortunes have placed you and your cohort at the center of the typhoon.  The Heir is not only aware of who you all are, he now trusts you as he would his closest confidants.  All the moreso because you risked your lives to defend him before you knew who he was.  I cannot say why the enemy allowed the Heir to live, suffice to say that few Tamori have ever been so intimately acquainted with anyone in line for the throne.  This is also true for the Shogun, who will remember you and your bushi comrades too.  The Topaz Championship was merely a canvas, upon which the Fortunes painted the events as they have unfolded.  Now, things change.”

Kenta draw a deep breath, and proceeds with deliberation.

“My son, of your cohort I would specifically say this.

“Moto Subotai is your most loyal ally.  I hear in your words the truth and dignity of his deeds, the power of his honor, and the fortitude of his resilience.  When the enemy brings ultimate war to Rokugan, I wish very much for you to be at Subotai’s side, and he at yours.  The other Great Clans do not understand the Unicorn, as you and I do.  I believe the Unicorn will save Rokugan some day, if not from the enemy, then perhaps from Rokugan itself.

“Akodo Toranaka and Ikoma Uso are the true future of the Lion.  This Tetsuro Akodo bushi represents the worst, most archaic aspects of what it is to be Lion.  Ignore him.  Focus your spirit on your new friends.  I understand that Toranaka’s pain and disgrace especially will be difficult for him to bear, but if he is not allowed to commit seppuku this pain and suffering will be the fire that forges him into a remarkable leader of samurai.  Uso… is haunted by something at which I cannot guess.  Nevertheless, that he bested all comers in the Topaz, fought with honor at every step, and conceded to Subotai… there is a greater destiny at work in Uso than any mortal man might know.  Both of them will be crucial, as the Lion are the Emperor’s greatest weapon when Rokugan is under siege.

“Suzume Shintaro may be the man to keep you all tied together.  Few Sparrow have ever soared as he seems to have soared.  He will enjoy respect and prominence within his Clan, and in the war against the enemy all of Rokugan will need such stalwart, capable bushi.  He seems to have the ferocity of the Crab without their thick-headedness, and the prowess of the Lion without their overbearing pride.  Like Subotai, I would have you at Shintaro’s side when the tide of battle is highest.  Treasure him, for greatness can be born from the most humble soil.

“Yoritomo Oki is the wildcard.  A man of supreme skill, yet also ruled by his appetites.  I fear for him that he has been dispatched to Pleasure City.  I have been there, and seen even strong men tempted to their doom.  Yet the carnal fires of Pleasure City may be the furnace which hardens and hones Oki into a man of honor?  If Yoritomo Kakeko was placed in your path by fate, I believe Oki may have been as well.  He will need you and the others to remind him of his obligation to Rokugan, and you will need his gift with a bow during moments when neither spells no swords can reach the foe.”

Isao takes it all in, listening intently.  Kenta has never been a visionary, yet he is speaking as if he already knows what will come to pass.  Isao is breathless as his Father exhales slowly, inhales, and prepares to make a final pronouncement on Isao’s own prospects.

“For you, my son, who is now a man in every sense of the word, I see but one choice.  The answer to your nightmares is the answer to Rokugan’s dilemma.  You must prepare yourself to rise and fight this water-borne enemy.  That which you fear most is that which will confront you eternally, until you master your fear and confront it where it dwells.  Therefore I—we, the Tamori—will do our utmost to prepare you to fight.  Tomorrow I will take you to see the Daimyo and I will say some of what I have said here.  You were our champion at the tournament, and so shall you be our champion against this new enemy.”

Isao closes his eyes and swallows hard.  He longs to deny the truth of what his father is saying, yet he is grateful for the words; for he suspected such all along.

“What must I do?” Isao asks.

“We will decide that tomorrow, after securing the Daimyo’s approval.  For tonight, I want you to rest.  I will wish for you to dream sweetly of your Kakeko, and not the water demons of blackness and death.  May your lust and want for the Mantis woman be transformed into energy and vigor for your new training.  When you were a boy I worried that you were too gentle for the Tamori arts.  We are a fighting shugenja, and I saw in you the gentile manner of a philosopher, not a war-mage.  But now the die is cast.  You must learn some hard learnings, you must harden your body and soul, you must seek out and confront the new enemy.

“You, and your cohort with you.  For I predict that none of them can escape this joined fate.  The spectral shugenja you saw at the bank of the river, and again on the barge, he saw this too.  That you were all not destroyed tells me he either has further need of you, or the Fortunes are such that your participation in future events cannot be prevented, even by an opponent with such awesome powers.”

“But how can a man fight a god-like sorcerer?”

“You know the story of the Dark Oracle of Fire, yes?”

“Yes.”

“The Tamori have labored greatly to live down the Dark Oracle of Fire’s betrayal of Rokugan.  Perhaps now we may have a chance to strike a blow against a similar foe, and once and for all wipe clean the stain left by the Dark Oracle on the Tamori name, and on the Dragon as a whole.”

“Father,” Isao says, head bowed, “you do indeed lay a heaven burden on my shoulders.”

“I know,” says Kenta.  “But I will help you carry this burden.  It need not all be addressed in one evening.  There is time yet to prepare.  To gather allies and information.  Tonight is but the planting of the seed.  Take heart, my son.  These are momentous times.  You have been given the opportunity to shape what it will mean for your children and their children to call themselves Rokugani.  This is not a foe the samurai can fight alone.  We shugenja know what it means to do battle, and to fight for our land with honor; to the giving of our lives.  I would see you give such tremendous combat to this enemy, either to his utter defeat, or to your death in glorious service to the Emerald Empire.  A death worthy of song and remembrance down through a score of generations.  Let it be written.  Let it be so.”

Isao looks at his knuckles, made white as he grips the rail with his fists.  He is reminded of his friend Toranaka’s wails of agony as Isao pours the essence of the fire kami across the gushing stump of Toranaka’s left arm.  Isao wonders how Toranaka—proud and invincible Toranaka—will bear the wound to both his body and his spirit.  For a moment Isao imagines Toranaka: older and captaining the armies of the Lion into battle, as he captained the combined might of the Topaz competitors against the Daidoji Iron Warriors during the Mass Battle of the Topaz.  Isao thinks Toranaka, and Uso, and the stalwart Subotai, and the brave, noble Shintaro, and even the hard-drinking Oki, will need an ally to wield the kami on their behalf, before all is said and done.

“Very well, Father,” Isao says, releasing the railing and looking up.  “I have heard your counsel, and while it is a hard counsel, it is good.  I am afraid—”

“We are all afraid.  Only a fool is not afraid.  Take hold of the fear.  Use it.  Turn it to your advantage, my son.”

“But I do not know how!”

“You will learn,” Kenta says.  “We will learn.  Together.”

The two men—one old and one young—look into each other’s eyes.  Kenta outstretches his arms, beckoning.  Isao walks slowly into them, and father and son hug tightly.

“I cannot do it alone,” Isao says, near tears.

“You will not be, nor have you ever been, alone.”

Isao closes his eyes and squeezes his father tightly, then the two men step back, hands braced on each others’ shoulders.  Kenta nods once, Isao returns the nod, and together they walk into the house as the last of the paper lanterns of the veranda silently flickers out.

###

To be continued next week: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2013/04/26/the-drowning-empire-episode-17-isao-on-the-dragonspire/

And if you want to check out some fiction where Brad was actually trying 🙂 http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B007E5ZTKA

These minis have been brought to you by Season 2 of Justified and Season 1 of Mad Men. 🙂

This steam powered robot is for my Warmachine Mercenaries army. This is the most I’ve ever experimented with weathering and rust and I had a lot of fun with it.

I also used some water effect on the base. (Realistic Water is the best product name ever)

And this is my character for an upcoming Iron Kingdoms RPG.

And this is Daughter #2’s character from the same game. This was my first attempt at something like the ice magic.

1

I’m helping my friends Dan and Rob with this. Here are some more details. It is a really neat project: http://www.fearfulsymmetry.net/?p=1993

 

The Drowning Empire is a weekly serial based on the events which occured during the  Writer Nerd Game Night monthly Legend of the Five Rings game.  It is a tale of samurai adventure set in the magical world of Rokugan.

If you would like to read all of these in one convenient place, along with a bunch of additional game related stuff, behind the scenes info, and detailed session recaps, I’ve been posting everything to one thread on the L5R forum,  http://www.alderac.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=295&t=101206

This first part of this week’s episode was written by Paul Genesse, and the second half was written by Brad Torgersen. Paul and I had worked out beforehand that his character was going to get maimed during the first few episodes, because he wanted his character to go from golden boy, to somebody with a lot of challenges. Paul had no idea how I was going to do it though, so making him saw his own arm off to escape a sinking barge was pretty darn awesome. 🙂

Continued from: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2013/04/05/the-drowning-empire-episode-14-the-topaz-champion/

Journal of Akodo Toranaka, Fourth Entry

Seventeenth Year of the Reign of Empress Hantei Hoketuhime

Seventeenth day of the Month of the Dragon

Two days after the attack on the Imperial Barge

Tent for the wounded outside the ruin of the Village of Tsuma in the Crane Lands

I have brought great dishonor to my family, as I have lost my katana, my wakizashi, and my left arm. All three are at the bottom of the Tsuma river. Some will think it would have been better if I had died in the river, in the wreckage of the imperial barge. I have had these thoughts myself, but even as I suffer agonizing pain, I know that my destiny was to live through that Night of Evil.

I finally have the strength of mind and body to write in my journal again. The Topaz Championship is over, but it was of little consequence compared to the events that transpired after the competition finished.

Many have lost more than I have, and many accounts will tell of the destruction of the village of Tsuma, and the people killed there. The dead are in my prayers, and so are the living, and especially those injured like myself.

I live, and I will fight again. But I must record what happened to me personally, and will send a letter similar to this entry to my father as soon as I have the strength to do what I must, and formally resign my posting as Gunso in the Fourth Akodo Army.

My decision to resign is a heavy blow against my spirit, but it is a decision I must make. I have only one arm, and I may never be a good enough swordsman to lead at the tip of an assault, as would be required of me as Gunso. It is not easy for me to admit this, but I will not endanger the lives of my men, or the success of the Lion Army because of my ego.

For my entire life, and especially three days ago, before I had completed my gempukku and become an adult in the eyes of the people of Rokugan, I knew I would become a strong swordsman, one of the best in the empire, but now I have little faith in that. There will be many who see me as a liability, better suited for assignments that do not test my mettle as a warrior. I wonder if they are correct. Right now I can barely lift a brush and writing this much has taken all of my strength. I shall rest, take some milk of the poppy, and return when I am able.

The pain is better now after the poppy. . . I see chrysanthemums on the ceiling, spinning. The blossoms open and they become lion mouths telling me my father and all of my family is ashamed of me.

Forgive those lines from my addled mind. I have regained my wits now and told the healers I do not wish the milk of the poppy any more today. I must finish this entry so it is not weighing upon me any longer.

As a samurai, it is my duty to be honest. I try to keep my face calm in front of the healers, but I have so much unrelenting pain, and not all of it is from my arm. I have lost my swords, which is a great misery to me. In truth, the agony of losing my arm is worse. The Crane surgeon has used heavy black stitching and pinched the skin together in an ugly stump of angry flesh that looks like the wrinkled lips of an ox sown shut. He says it would not hurt so much, but the burns make it very sensitive. He says I would have bled to death had the wound not been cauterized as it was.

The competition ended and I was invited along with: Ikoma Uso, Suzume Shintaro, Moto Subotai, Tamori Isao, Yoritomo Oki, and Hiruma Akio to dine on the royal barge with Hantei Mikki, the son of Hantei Yuni, who is the daughter of the Empress Hoketuhime. One day Hantei Miike will be emperor, and this invitation was a great honor.

In the most opulent chamber I have ever seen in the center of the barge, I watched Hantei Miike enter the room. I realized the young man before us had been known by a different name during the competition, Bayushi Arashii. Miike had been masquerading as a Scorpion courtier and had become our friend as a fellow contestant.

When I got over my shock, I followed the example of my friends, mostly Oki, and allowed myself to laugh for the first time that day. Miike is a dear friend to us all, and I vowed to never endanger him again, as he was on our hunt for the swamp dragon and was taken hostage by the vile ronin. I apologized to Miike again, and he said there was nothing to apologize for. His time at the gempukku was the best time of his life. He had truly lived as a samurai, and not the divine one chosen by the gods, pampered and protected from all hurts. Our friendship to him was a great treasure, beyond anything he had ever been given in his entire life.

The dinner was excellent. The best food I’ve ever eaten, with wonderful company. Since my friends and I had killed the swamp dragon with Mikki/Arashii as our leader he chose to reveal to us, his true friends, the truth of his parentage.

It was a great honor that I shall never forget.

When the dinner was complete we walked onto the gangplank in fine spirits. The air was quite humid, and the river seemed wrong, roiling with some hidden malice. I could tell from the anxious look in Isao’s eyes, he sensed immediately, as he can sense when the kami are agitated. That was when the attack began. A shugenja of godlike power assaulted the imperial barge. The Daidoji Iron Guards on the dock were slain, their bodies turning into muddy water and flowing into the ground. They will have empty graves, and their spirits will wander aimlessly in the next world.

The Seppun guards on the barge were next to die, and my friends and I retreated to the interior of the ship to defend Hantei Miike and perish if necessary.

We were powerless as the barge rose into the air on a pillar of water. I thought of grabbing Miike and jumping down into the river. However, I did not. Instead I watched a man, the monk I had seen when entering the village by the stream, then again I’d seen him on the bridge in the village. He told us to remember what he had said: “Fear the water.” He also said he was not surprised to see us on the barge, for our paths are intertwined.

The burly monk disappeared, turning into water himself and flowing away as the barge crashed down and broke apart, tumbling on its side many times before beginning to sink into the Tsuma River.

Knocked unconscious for a short time, I found myself in the dark, my arm crushed and trapped under a large wooden beam and water filling the room at an alarming rate. I called for Subotai, for any of my friends, but I was alone and the water quickly rose over my head. I pulled my arm as hard as I could many times, and every time I tried to wrench it free I felt sharp pain as the shattered bones grated together. It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

As I struggled to free myself from that place of death, I realized I had one option. Though I had lost my katana, my wakizashi remained at my belt. I drew it in the darkness and placed it against my already broken arm intending to cut through the flesh where the bones had snapped. My courage failed me for a moment, and I could not do it even as brackish water entered my nose.

Almost out of air, my lungs burning, I decided that I had to survive. With one sharp sawing motion, I cut through the meat of my arm. The blade cut through the nerve and my entire body rang like bell as white hot agony paralyzed me. One more cut from the blade and I was free.

The pain drove me to kick my legs and I escaped the wrecked barge and broke the surface of the river. Gasping for air I could barely stay afloat as the strength left my body one spurt of blood at a time. The Emerald Magistrate, Bayushi Kuronobo pulled me to him by my hair and helped me grab hold of a bit of floating debris, or I would have sunk back into the water in the expanding stain all around me.

Blood pumped out my arm and I knew that I would soon die unless something were done. I would die like that ronin in the swamp who lost his arm to Shintaro’s strike. He gave up and died, resigned to his fate, but I am not that man.

Tamori Isao came to me then, his eyes mad with fear. He clutched at the debris, trying to keep his face out of the dark water, which he fears above all things. I showed him my arm and asked him to help. He mumbled about using his healing powers, but I knew they were limited and would not suffice for what had to be done.

Isao was going to try regardless, then I asked him to cauterize the wound. Only flame could stop the bleeding. He found one of his ceramic vials and broke it open, letting the fire kami surge onto my bleeding stump. Flesh crisped and blackened. I screamed and passed out from the pain. Isao, my friend, stayed with me, and kept me from letting go and drowning in the river, keeping me afloat until we were pulled to safety by Kuronobo and others. When I see him again, I will apologize for forcing him to do such a difficult thing.

My life was saved, as were the lives of most of my friends. Hiruma Aiko, the Crab scout, and the only woman who went on our hunt for the swamp dragon is missing, presumed dead. Hantei Miike survived as well, though he was wounded and I will not record here what Subotai told me of that grim event, as I do not believe I am authorized to do so by Imperial Family.

Now I will go to my Daimyo, Akodo Shigatoshi, the father of Tetsuru, and do what I must. For failing to protect the grandson of the Empress, and for losing my two swords, the embodiment of my soul, and my left arm, I will ask him for permission to commit seppuku. I will prepare myself to die honorably like Sensei Daidoji Kenru.

My Daimyo will likely refuse my request, because even broken I will be of use to the Lion Clan. In this case, I will ask for a different assignment in the army. If I cannot be a Gunso in the Fourth Akodo regiment, and clearly I now cannot, I will find another place to serve the Empire.

I have only one arm, but it is my dominant sword arm, and for that I am grateful. Right now I could barely lift a small tanto blade to defend myself, so pale and weak I have become, but someday my strength will return.

I have told myself repeatedly that I still have the spirit of a samurai. If Daimyo Shigatoshi refuses my request to end my life, I will ask him to have a new set of swords crafted for me. They must be lighter, and balanced for a one-handed grip.

Until I can defend myself, I will carry no weapons. If an assassin comes and thinks to find me an easy mark, they will learn quickly the error of their thinking. My hostage, NO, my friend, Moto Subotai, winner of the recent iaijutsu dueling tournament, sits at my bed writing his poetry and the long letters to his betrothed in the distant Unicorn lands. He claims to enjoy sitting in the tent with me, as it is far away from river and overlooks a grassy plain, but I know that he guards me from assassins who have twice tried to take my life. Perhaps now my father will assign another of our clan to be his ward, but I hope that Subotai will stay with me for many years, and together we can heal the rift between our two clans. I may not be the warrior I had hoped to become, but my life cannot be over. I refuse to submit to despair.

I am Akodo Toranaka of the Lion Clan, son of Akodo Goro, top graduate of the Golden Plains Dojo. The agony I now feel will teach me how to endure pain, and to rise above physical limitations. As long as I have my keen mind, I will not be denied the destiny I seek. I believe the Fortune of Battle has blessed me, and I wish to serve the Emerald Empire and be known as the general who united the Great Clans.

My enemies will see me as weak, and it will be their fatal mistake.

#

A letter from Tamori Isao to Akodo Shigitoshi, Champion of the Lion

My name is Tamori Isao, shugenja of the Dragon Clan and competitor in the Topaz Championship alongside the most brave and honorable Lion bushi, Akodo Toranaka.  I have entrusted this letter to the hands of Toranaka’s friend and fellow Lion bushi, the Topaz Champion himself, Ikoma Uso.  I do this because I believe Toranaka will not pass to you my words, so great is his sense of shame and responsibility for the near drowning and eventual stabbing of the Imperial Heir, Hantei Miike.

Toranaka’s left arm is maimed.  There is little of it remaining below the elbow, and what does remain is both painful and twisted.  I trust that time will ease the physical sorrow, but it is Toranaka’s mental and emotional sorrow which concern me most.  For I was the one who burned the severed flesh of Toranaka’s arm, that he might not bleed to death in the cursed waters of the Tsuma River.  And now I feel a personal responsibility to implore you: do not permit my friend Toranaka to take his own life in a misguided attempt to appease Akodo and Lion Clan honor.

I was there that night, when the Heir’s barge was attacked.  Of the specifics I cannot say, only that we were all beset by a force so wicked, so heinous, that no Topaz Championship bushi, however well prepared or anticipatory, could have prevented any of what happened.  I believe Toranaka acted properly to save his own life, and I am saddened that I could do little more with the kami on behalf of my friend.

Know that Toranaka’s strategic skill may be an even greater asset to the Lion Clan than his tactical prowess as would-be Gunso.  Knowing my friend’s ambition and desire to lead Lion samurai in battle, I believe you must not allow Toranaka to waste himself in seppuku, nor as a dojo functionary living forever on the ashes of the Topaz Championship itself.  He has but one arm left to wield a katana for the Emerald Empire, and if you could have seen him orchestrate the battle of the Topaz against Daidoji Kenru and his Iron Warriors, as I and the other shugenja saw, you would know that within Toranaka there is the potential to be a great captain of armies.

I do not know if the word of a Dragon Clan sheugenja carries any weight with the masters of the Lion Clan.  If I had the power of the kami to restore Toranaka’s flesh, whole and strong, I would do it; even to the ending of my own life, if required.  So I ask in humility and desperation that Toranaka be found a new role, with fresh challenges.  Allow him no time for weeping and anguish.  Call him to an office sufficient to his talents.  You will not be disappointed.  The Lion will thus gain a tremendous leader.  Someone to make every young lion bushi stand up and shout with pride.

May it be enough to ease my friend’s pain and recall him to himself during this his darkest hour.

I say all of this on my honor as a Tamori, beseeching.

Tamori Isao

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To be continued next week: http://larrycorreia.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/the-drowning-empire-episode-16-evening-on-the-dragonspire/

To read more of Paul’s work: http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B006PU7PIE

To read more of Brad’s work: <http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?lt1=_blank&bc1=000000&IS2=1&bg1=FFFFFF&fc1=000000&lc1=0000FF&t=monshuntnati-20&o=1&p=8&l=as4&m=amazon&f=ifr&ref=ss_til&asins=B007E5ZTKA