Twisted Visions
by Shawn
Carman and Rich
Wulf
The Burning Sands…
“So
if I am to fight Iuchiban, tell me what I must do,” Katamari said, lifting up
the steel mask in one hand. “You have hinted that I can defeat him, creature, but
you have told me no specifics.”
“Meat
wishes Adisabah to tell it how to kill Iuchiban?” the raskhasa chuckled. “If
Adisabah knew that, Iuchiban would be dead. The answer is not here,” the
rakshasa tapped one temple. “Neither is the answer there,” it gestured toward
the mask. “The Doomseeker must seek the truth, though we betide you when you
find it. The Doomseeker is called the Doomseeker for a reason.”
“You
speak like a Dragon,” Katamari replied with a sneer. “You have my thanks for
rescuing me from Iuchiban’s Tomb, but if you have nothing further useful to
offer, I ask that you return me to Rokugan.”
“Nothing
useful?” Adisabah chuckled, picking between two sharp teeth with the end of its
pipe. “Meat wishes information. It has information. Adisabah cannot tell meat
what the jailer is, but can tell how jailer became Iuchiban.”
Katamari
set the mask back on the floor, folded his arms, and waited patiently. If the
rakshasa wished to tell his stories, there seemed to be no other choice but to
wait.
“Iuchiban
is not a real name,” Adisabah said. “Men like Iuchiban hide their names away so
that others cannot gain power over them. But these names can be found by the
wise… Iuchiban was Jama, once. Hantei Jama, brother of the Emperor.”
Katamari
frowned. “Iuchiban, Fu Leng, the Steel Chrysanthemum,” he said. “It seemed the
Hantei line was cursed with evil.”
“Not
evil,” Adisabah said. “Merely power. There were nine and thirty Hantei
Emperors, and countless more Imperial relations such as Jama. Gather nine and thirty
souls in a room, see if you can find three who will wield power with justice.
Your Hantei dynasty was better than most mortals can ask for, Adisabah thinks.”
“Perhaps,”
Katamari replied, “but continue the story.”
“Between
six and seven centuries ago, there was a mighty Hantei,” the rakshasa
continued. “In his youth, this Emperor fell ill and for a few days, it seemed
as if his brother, Jama, would take the throne. Favors and luxuries were heaped
upon Jama, even beyond those normally reserved only for a prince of the Empire.
Jama tasted power, and found it to his liking, but that power was stolen away
when his brother survived. This elder Hantei ruled the land of Rokugan, but his
was not a good rule. His was a time of peace, and times of peace are always
boring for samurai. Jama had no difficulty finding others like himself – wicked
men who resented the peace his brother had brought.”
The
rakshasa pondered for a moment. “If the boy had died, what then I wonder? Would
the Empire have been a better place if Jama had been given what he desired?
Would he have become indolent and lazy, never forced by hardship to grow in
strength? Or would he remain Iuchiban no matter what occurred? Would his
ambition and lust for destruction have shone through and tainted his destiny?
Adisabah thinks perhaps the latter. Adisabah thinks the Emperor did a great
deed for his Empire that day merely by just surviving. This Hantei was,
Adisabah thinks, one of your Empire’s greatest heroes.”
“Just
because he did not die,” Katamari replied.
Adisabah laughed. “Sometimes,
meat, that is the hardest thing to do…”
•
The
wooden door rattled once suddenly, jarred by some tremendous impact. A second
blow struck seconds later, shaking dust from between the boards and raining it
upon the dirt floor of the darkened room. With the third blow, the ancient wood
shattered. Light poured into the shadows, and several green-armored samurai
rushed into the room, each wielding two swords in the Niten style. Six filed in
with lightning grace, splitting down the middle and moving along both walls to
fill the room. Each searched the room eagerly for signs of any enemy, but the
room was empty.
A
seventh man strode into the room, an iron tessen in his hand. He wore no helm;
his long white hair was pulled back into a somewhat unkempt knot on the back of
his head. His armor was old, but obviously well-cared for. His eyes were alert,
his lips twisted in a disdainful sneer. He peered about the room, carefully
noting the arrangement of the items within. “Touch nothing,” he barked. He
pointed to the first two men to enter the room. “You and you, stay with me. The
rest of you fall back until Iweko-sama can assess the situation.”
At
his command, four of the men carefully pulled back, their eyes intently scanning
the walls and floors as they departed. The two who remained looked to the older
man for orders, but he merely held out his hand, palm down. They both nodded
and stood their ground.
The
chamber had been dug out from the earth, with dirt walls and floors. The
ceiling was wooden, braced with wooden support beams. Under other
circumstances, there would probably be a considerable clamor from the tea house
that stood above the chamber, but now it was silent. The patrons above were
being quietly escorted to the magistrate’s headquarters to await questioning.
Lengths
of parchment were scattered throughout the chamber, each covered with
indecipherable symbols. Glass containers sat on shelves along the walls, some
empty and stained, others filled with dark fluids. The old samurai sneered in
disgust and revulsion, but made no effort to investigate.
The
sound of armor creaking came from the doorway. Two figures ducked through the
low door and entered the room. One was a young woman with long black hair, clad
in a green and gold kimono. Her eyes instantly locked upon the parchments on
the wall, and she moved to study them carefully. The other was an older man
with a clean shaven head. His kimono was a deep brown, the back emblazoned with
the symbol of a dragon and a wolf. His hand rested comfortably on the hilt of
his blade. The waiting samurai bowed deeply to the lady, showing her all the
respect a lord of the Dragon Clan deserved.
“Definitely
a Bloodspeaker cell, Governor,” the young daimyo said, studying one of the
scrolls attached to the wall. “I am sure the Kuni may find this interesting
from an academic perspective, but I think it has been abandoned too long to
yield any clues as to their current whereabouts.”
“I
feared this would happen, Shokan-sama,” he said, scratching the back of his
neck.
The
Dragon samurai sighed. “How often have I told you not to call me sama,
Saigorei?”
The
ronin shrugged, as if unconcerned with the question. He looked about at the
chamber once more, anger evident on his face. “The Bloodspeakers seem to have
spies everywhere. We can hardly move against them without them knowing well in
advance.”
“Then
we must learn to move more swiftly,” Shokan said. “Do you see anything else,
Iweko?”
The
young Kitsuki said nothing at first, carefully looking all throughout the
chamber. She carefully looked at each of the parchments, lifting them
delicately with a chopstick to examine the other side. She examined the glass
containers without touching them, wiping away the dust with a cloth. She even
studied the surface of the beams that supported the ceiling. Finally, she stood
in the center of the room and folded her arms in his sleeves. “Tell me again
how you discovered this place, Saigorei-san.”
Saigorei
nodded. “Members of the Wolf Legion found a body in the woods while patrolling
near the Phoenix border,” he explained. “One of my men recognized him as a
resident of the city, and they arranged for the body to be transported back. At
Shokan-sama’s direction, we investigated the matter. The dead man’s family
reported that he had only recently begun attending this tea house. Upon further
investigation, we discovered a handful of odd disappearances or deaths from
patrons of the same house over the past ten years. The connection was always
subtle, but apparent if one chose to look deeply enough.”
Iweko
nodded. “And the Kitsuki records have no mention of bodies or anything of that
nature discovered in this place before?”
“No,”
Saigorei confirmed. “There have been unexplained deaths due to strange illness,
and men who have just disappeared, many of whom were travelers, assumed to have
moved on at the time. There was nothing to tie the victims together save their
patronage here. This was the first local victim to die unexpectedly, thus it
drew attention.”
Shokan
scowled. “This place could have gone undiscovered for another ten years.
Fortunate for us that the Bloodspeakers made this error.”
“No,”
Iweko said firmly. “Forgive me, my lord, but this was no error.”
Shokan
frowned. “Explain, please.”
Iweko
gestured to the room at large. “This room has been abandoned for at least three
weeks, several days before the body was found. The parchments hanging on the
wall are no older than that, although there were parchments hanging in those
positions long before that. They were replaced with these when the room was
abandoned.” She looked back to his lord and inclined his head respectfully.
“The Bloodspeakers made a purposeful, calculated error. Whoever was here wanted
you to find this room. Further, I think it was no coincidence that this mystery
happened to occur at the same time I chose to visit Heibeisu.”
“Why?”
demanded Saigorei. “If there are men and women practicing blood magic in
Heibeisu, why would they permit us to learn of it when they know that we will
never stop hunting them?”
“Arrogance,
perhaps,” Iweko said, glancing about the room, “or a distraction while they
compose darker schemes elsewhere.”
“They
should have remained under their rock,” Saigorei insisted vehemently. “They
will not escape the Wolf Legion.”
Shokan
withdrew a folded fan from his obi and tapped it against his chin thoughtfully.
“When do you reveal your hand to an enemy, Saigorei?”
“Never,”
the ronin replied confidently.
Shokan
smiled slightly. “When does a poor commander tip their hand to an enemy?”
The
old ronin considered the matter. “Immediately before a new attack. I have seen
inexperienced generals do such things in a failed attempt to make their
opponents doubt themselves, or to gloat.” He shook his head. “It is a waste of
energy, and leads to failure when the enemy is competent enough to see through
the facade.”
“Then
let us hope this is much the same,” Iweko said. “I charge you to continue the
investigation, Saigorei-san. Take half the Dragon bushi who accompanied us and
scour the village for clues. I must take what we have and report to
Rosanjin-sama immediately. If this is the precursor to an attack of some sort,
then my duty is clear.” She turned to Shokan. “I would be pleased if you would
accompany me as well, Shokan-sama. I would feel safer with your swords at my
side.”
Shokan
bowed curtly, acknowledging the Kitsuki’s faith in him. “I wish you the best of
luck, Saigorei-san,” he said as they turned to leave. “Though I hope you will
not need luck.”
Iweko
departed the chamber and Shokan followed, turning only at the door of the
chamber. “I have been charged with caring for this city, my friends. I will not
have this poison among our people. Once this investigation is finished, fill
this chamber with dirt and have the tea house destroyed. This lot shall stand
empty until we discover those who created it.”
“As
you wish, my lord,” Saigorei said with another bow.
The
governor of Heibeisu nodded, his features suddenly very tired and saddened. He
stepped through the door and back into the light without another word.
•
Shiro
Mirumoto was not among the Empire’s most beautiful castles. The words best used
when describing it were ‘functional’ or perhaps ‘utilitarian.’ A great Crane poet,
upon traveling to the remote castle, once called it “the least impressive
reward for the most difficult mountain climb in all of Rokugan.” Since that
time, few have disagreed with the famous Doji’s assessment, even among the
Mirumoto.
To
Mirumoto Rosanjin, the castle was home. He had never found it uninviting, but
then he was rarely able to stay and enjoy it for more than a few weeks at a
time. His frequent duties on behalf of his lord Togashi Satsu, his duties at
the Emperor’s court, his supervision of the Dragon armies, and the seemingly
endless string of tasks that were required in governing the clan’s largest
family called him away for long periods of time regardless of the season.
As
Rosanjin stood in the castle’s meager audience chamber, he looked at the katana
that rested upon the wall in a place of honor above the daimyo’s seat. The
blade had been carried by Rosanjin’s predecessor - Mirumoto Uso - murdered
years ago by an as yet unknown assassin. Rosanjin’s first duty as Mirumoto
daimyo had been given to him by Satsu: find the assassin. Years later, he had
still discovered nothing. The assassin had appeared, murdered Uso, and
disappeared into the night. The weight of failure grew greater with each
passing day.
“Rosanjin-sama?”
called out a voice. Rosanjin turned back to the others assembled in the
chamber. Kitsuki Tadashi was looking at him expectantly. “Forgive me, my lord,
but we must finish the discussion if I am to make my appointment at the coast.”
The
daimyo nodded and privately wondered how Uso had always managed to seem so calm
and centered. Rosanjin had no head for politics – his soul yearned for the
battlefield. “Yes, the coast. My apologies, Tadashi. I had forgotten your
commitment to the Ningyo.”
“Yes,
my lord,” the Kitsuki courtier smiled. “Our trade with them thus far has proven
very interesting, and I suspect our discussions have reached the stage where we
can finally discover more information on their mystical practices. It would be
a great boon to our limited trade along the coast. If we fail to meet at our
annual appointment, however, I cannot predict how the Ningyo king might
perceive it.”
“Of
course,” Rosanjin said with a wave. “Let us proceed.”
“As
you wish,” Tadashi said with a respectful nod. “We were just about to discuss
the overtures made by our friend Bayushi Kaukatsu. His offer to train one of
our number among his personal students would be an incredible honor and would
provide us with a greatly skilled representative to use in court.”
“And
it would allow one of his students to join us here,” Rosanjin added. “The
Scorpion are our allies, of course, but I have reservations about admitting
Kaukatsu’s students unrestricted access to our home. Kaukatsu’s ambition is
great, perhaps greater than his dedication to the Dragon.”
“Kaukatsu-sama
has ever been our advocate and ally in court,” Tadashi insisted. “If nothing
else, he is a loyal Scorpion. If Sunetra commands him to treat us as allies, we
can expect his full cooperation.”
Rosanjin
nodded and glanced to the others standing quietly to the side. “Tsuge?”
The
surly Mirumoto frowned. “Kaukatsu carries no katana, but he is far more
dangerous than any foe I’ve ever faced.” He shook his head slightly, then
added, “Save one, I suppose. In any event, I believe he would perceive open
trust as a sign of weakness. We should proceed with caution, whatever your
decision.”
“Bah,”
a voice came from the shadows along the wall. “He is weak.”
Rosanjin
raised his eyebrows curiously. “Vedau?”
The
massive tattooed form of Hitomi Vedau stepped into the fading afternoon light.
He noisily took a bite of a rice ball while seeming to consider his words,
wiping the crumbs from his fine green kimono with a thick hand. “Kaukatsu
depends on others to fulfill his promises and make good on his threats. He has
only what power others give him.”
Tadashi
closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if pained. “It is not so simple as you
imagine, Vedau-san. He is the Imperial Chancellor.”
The
massive monk snorted in disgust. “The world is a simple place. It is men like
Kaukatsu who pretend it is complicated, so that they will have a place.” He
regarded his rice ball intently. The rumble of thunder sounded in the distance,
sending a low vibration throughout the castle walls. “The Chancellor is
nothing. The Chancellor’s yojimbo… now that is a man to fear.”
“Kwanchai?”
Tadashi exclaimed in exasperation. “He’s a maniac.”
Vedau
only tapped a tattoo of a moon on his shoulder. “I see the Fortunes’ will.
Kwanchai cannot die. Not until the world is done with him.”
“Enough,”
Rosanjin said wearily. “This accomplishes nothing. We will accept Kaukatsu’s
offer. Such a practice served us well in repairing our relations with the Crab.
It shall draw us even closer to our Scorpion allies. But we must be cautious
nonetheless.”
“A
wise decision,” Tadashi said, clearly pleased.
Rosanjin
smiled wryly. “Your approval removes a great burden from my shoulders, my
friend.” Seeing the courtier’s face fall, he shook his head. “Forgive my
levity, Tadashi. There are other matters weighing on my mind.” He smiled. “Take
your leave and honor our commitment to the Ningyo. All else can wait until your
return.”
The
courtier bowed and turned to leave. Vedau and Tsuge both bowed and followed,
leaving Rosanjin alone.
An
elderly servant appeared by the doorway and waited quietly for his lord’s
acknowledgement. “Lady Kitsuki Iweko and Governor Mirumoto Shokan of Heibeisu
await your attention, my lord,” the old man said.
“Lady
Iweko,” Rosanjin said, rising to greet the young daimyo with a reserved bow, a
bow between equals.
“Rosanjin-san,”
Iweko replied demurely.
“And
Shokan!” Rosanjin laughed suddenly. “Good to see you, my old friend. It has
been too long.”
“It
has,” Shokan said with a bow. “I only regret that such dire circumstances brought
us here.”
Rosanjin’s
smile disappeared. “Dire circumstances?”
“Hai,
Rosanjin-san,” Iweko replied. “We discovered an abandoned Bloodspeaker lair,
hidden beneath a teahouse in Heibeisu. There was evidence of blood magic
throughout the chamber. A number of murders and disappearances seem to be
connected to this teahouse.”
“Find
those responsible,” Rosanjin said simply. “The Dragon Clan offers no mercy to
Bloodspeakers. Shokan, I leave this in your hands.” Again, thunder pealed
outside the castle.
“Of
course, my lord,” Shokan replied. “But that is not all. We believe these
heretics wished us to discover their lair, my lord.”
Rosanjin
opened his mouth to reply, and thunder pealed again – this time so loud that
the daimyo was forced to wait for the sound to recede. A curious expression
crossed his features. “Did you hear screams outside?” he asked softly.
The
doors to the audience chamber burst inward. A pair of samurai raced in, their
swords drawn. “My lord Rosanjin-sama! The sky is raining blood!”
More
screams, much louder and more vigorous this time, came from the courtyard. The
clash of steel on stone could be heard, and peals of manic, maddened laughter.
No
one had seen Rosanjin draw his swords, but now he held one in each hand. A slow
scowl spread across his features. “Who is attacking my castle?” he asked, his
voice a low growl.
“Our
own kinsmen,” one guard said, his face pale. “The Mirumoto turn upon each
other.”
•
The
Rain of Blood took a terrible toll on the Dragon. In every city and village,
men and women fell to the corrupting touch of the blood rain. Consumed by their
sins, they fell to madness, despair, and violence. Yet still there was hope.
The
samurai of the Dragon Clan learned one lesson at an early age – strength grows
from balance. Acceptance of one’s faults is a virtue, so long as one strives
always to overcome them. The strongest Dragon samurai did not fall to the Rain
of Blood. The mystic order of ise zumi appeared to be entirely immune, the
magic of their tattoos proving greater than Iuchiban’s maho. Under the
leadership of Mirumoto Rosanjin, those who were corrupted were purged from
Shiro Mirumoto before the rains had ceased to fall. The samurai of the Dragon
scoured the mountains, destroying their weaker brethren or chasing them from
their lands. For ten days the lands of the Dragon remained a war zone. Mirumoto
bushi left no stone unturned, hunting every corrupted soul.
Then the Emperor arrived.
•
Emperor
Toturi III entered the Mirumoto audience chamber with little fanfare, his
impending arrival only having been announced a few short hours before his
procession appeared at the mountain’s base. His regal green robes were in sharp
contrast to the stark surroundings, although he seemed quite comfortable in the
austere halls. His features were blank as he addressed the kneeling Dragon.
“Mirumoto Rosanjin,” the Emperor said, his liquid voice echoing easily through
the large hall. “Is your lord Togashi Satsu in attendance?”
“Satsu?”
Rosanjin replied surprised by the suggestion that the Dragon Champion might be
in his home.
“I
am here,” answered Togashi Satsu’s voice. The tall, muscular figure of the
Dragon Champion knelt before the Emperor. He did not enter the room – it was
merely as if he had always been there. “I apologize, my Emperor,” Satsu said.
“I came as soon as I heard of your arrival.”
Rosanjin quietly wondered how his
lord could possibly have heard and arrived so quickly, but had long since
learned not to question the mystery that was Satsu.
“Rise,
my friends,” the Emperor said. “I have arrived at this late hour because a
pressing question has plagued me of late these past few days, and I can think
of no counsel I would sooner have than that of the Dragon.”
“Whatever
wisdom we have is yours, Son of Heaven,” Satsu said.
“I
am much relieved to hear that,” the Emperor said. “I have been reflecting on
history a great deal lately, assessing the service that each clan provides
their Emperor. As I recall, your grandfather’s duty was to guard the Empire from
that which we could not comprehend. He served in this duty for over a thousand
years.”
“It
is so, my lord,” Satsu agreed.
“He
saw the future?” the Emperor asked.
“Not
as such,” Satsu said. “He saw the past, and understood the patterns which
inevitably resulted. The more he altered those patterns, the less reliable the
result. Thus when he acted, it was with subtlety, lest his visions of the
future be blinded forever.”
“Yet
he saw the Day of Thunder,” the Emperor replied. “He knew the last Hantei would
become the vessel of Fu Leng, and prepared the Thunders to fight him.”
“He
did, my lord.”
“Tell
me, Satsu-san,” the Emperor continued. “Do you share your grandfather’s
vision?”
Satsu
nodded. “His soul guides me still.”
Toturi
III looked directly at Togashi Satsu, fixing his gaze with his single eye. His
expression was grave, with a hint of anger. “Then tell me, Lord Dragon, why you
could not protect my Empire from the Rain of Blood?”
Satsu
lowered his head. “I cannot protect you from what I cannot see.”
“Satsu,”
the Emperor said coldly. “I am not a man who thinks highly of magic and
mysticism, but things have their uses. If your prophecy cannot prevent
countless servants of the Empire from losing their souls to the darkness, then
what good is it?”
“As
I said, Your Highness, my power is not prophecy,” Satsu replied. “I see
patterns formed by events of the past, by the dance of the elements. When these
things fall into disharmony… there is only chaos.”
“The
Phoenix believe that the Bloodspeakers are responsible for this,” the Emperor
replied. “They tell me that only Iuchiban could release a spell of this
magnitude.”
“Then now I understand why I
could not see,” Satsu replied. “Fu Leng was a god – bound to the fabric of the
cosmos. His actions, though ruinous, could be predicted. Iuchiban’s power comes
from some other source. I cannot see with accuracy – nor could my grandfather.”
The
Emperor’s face grew troubled. “Sezaru told me that I might find such an answer
here,” he replied. “Yet the secret histories record that it was a Dragon,
Yamatsu, who defeated Iuchiban once before – using your grandfather’s tattoo
magic.”
Satsu’s
eyes shone golden. “Though the Dragon cannot see, that does not mean the Dragon
cannot fight,” he replied.
The
Emperor frowned. “Is that all the reassurance you can offer?”
“I
can offer you this reassurance, Your Highness,” Rosanjin said impulsively,
keeping his head respectfully bowed. “The armies of the Dragon are still
strong. Less of our samurai fell to the rain than any clan, save perhaps the
Phoenix. While chaos consumes the Unicorn, Lion, and Crane and the Crab hold
the Wall, our armies stand ready. Let us be your sword, Toturi-sama. Let us
seek out those who have fallen to the blood rain, and cleanse the Empire in
your name.”
“Words
of reassurance are well and good,” the Emperor replied, “but cold steel is
sometimes better. You have offered me both, Mirumoto Rosanjin. Ride forth and
destroy our enemies with my blessing.”