An Ancestor's Legacy
Shiro no Shosuro in the year of 1137 of the Isawa Calendar
Sifu knelt on a generously padded cushion and couldn’t control one hand from fingering the elaborate trim as he glanced across the table at his family daimyo while the tea that sat steeping on the table emitted aromas the like of which Sifu had never experienced.
Must be a blend from across the sands, he thought aimlessly as he poured for both his host and he as tradition dictated, and as courtesy demanded; he waited politely for the highest ranking samurai to drink first.
The two men stared at each other, well more correctly Sifu was stared at, but his own eyes stared at the edge of the table in front of his daimyo, not presumptuous enough to meet his eyes only days after having been sworn into the Scorpion Clan following his successful gempukku. The almost tangible silence in the air was cut by a gentle clink as the two teenagers both lowered their cups in almost perfect synchronicity.
“Your sensei said you completed your gempukku last week Sifu-san.” Phrased as a statement rather than a question, Sifu just nodded, his grasp of people solid enough to know that his host was not yet finished speaking. “He said you had special potential and that I should speak with you personally.”
Sifu bowed deeply, resting his forehead on his hands in front of him. “Soshi-sensei was most generous in his praise, but I am sure that you have much more urgent demands on your time than one such as me Shosuro-sama.”
An appraising eye peeks out from the full face mask, taking Sifu’s measure before a response echoes out from beneath that same mask, a response heavy with the weight of responsibility and position, a strong counterpoint to Sifu’s almost submissive tone. “He speaks of something that is unusual enough to distinguish you from the rank and file Sifu-san. Something I recall personally from many years ago.”
The speaker raises a gloved hand and points to Sifu’s mask. “Remove it.” He asks so politely it seems almost like a request, but Sifu does not mistake it for anything but the order that it is and complies accordingly. He can’t help the slight tremble in his hands as he reaches up and removes the simple white face mask revealing pale milky skin, skin bearing only a single mark, but one which could not be mistaken or missed. Emblazoned upon the hollow of his left cheek rests the kanji for Void in a dark substance that seems to be made of the essence of night itself.
In the year 1130
Kakita Toshimoko stood in the setting sun, his resplendent, braided, silver hair dancing in the breeze like a puppet as he watched ‘The Butcher’ escort the Scorpion Clan into the Burning Sands as per the edict of the Imperial Regent Takuan. A sigh escaped the Emerald Champion’s lips as the last of the banished samurai disappeared over the horizon, a sigh that was claimed by the air kami before any others heard it, their joy at such a treasure of a soul’s lament obvious from their increased chattering for those so blessed as to be able to hear and understand it.
One of the young Scorpion, who watched his father’s retreating figure vanish from his view, and his life, was such a gifted individual. Looking to the clear sky he thought to himself that surely the Celestial Heavens would intervene, surely they would spare the righteous and punish the wicked...but they did not, instead those deemed innocent of the crimes for which the Scorpion were found guilty, those who were too young to survive the perilous trip to the Burning Sands, those whose only crime was being born to a clan made scapegoat – they were left standing surrounded by Crane and Imperial soldiers as all they were and all they knew disappeared never to be seen again.
“Those of you who remain,” Toshimoko announced in a crisp voice, well used to giving commands as he turned around. “Will be held as hostage by the Crane Clan, in order to ensure there is no retribution from those ronin formerly known as members of the Scorpion Clan. You are now members of the traditional Left Hand of the Emperor, you are now Crane.”
The last word had barely left his lips when a deep voice spoke, a voice possessed of a mystical quality that others would later testify lent his words such impact that they were felt more than heard. “Except this one...” the voice boomed through the minds of the assembled. Sifu craned his neck around and saw a figure standing behind him that seemed to be made of the stuff of the universe itself. Even faster than Sifu however, was Toshimoko’s blade and it was levelled at the being before his mind even registered its presence. A gasp went out from the assembled, samurai and children both, for the being that stood behind the young child radiated power, but Toshimoko was the Emerald Champion, the highest authority of law in the Empire now that the throne stood empty – who would dare stand against him?
The answer was obvious to Sifu. He didn’t know exactly how he knew, but somehow he knew that the entity, for to call it a man was inaccurate, answered not to the laws and rules of humankind. This was nothing less than an emissary of the Celestial Heavens, the primary servant of one of the great and noble Dragons revered by all; this was an Oracle of Light.
“You are a master of your art Grey One,” the Oracle spoke, “but do not seek to test your skills against mine. You are an honourable man and the Empire will have need of your blade, but you are still just a man and I would feel sorrow should I need end you. My patron sees a future that will have need of great heroes and would call this youngling to service.”
No further objections came as the Oracle reached forth one incredibly long index finger, laid it upon Sifu’s face, and traced a pattern upon the boy’s flesh. Somehow the figure seemed to lighten, almost as if his essence poured into the young Scorpion leaving the mark of the Void clearly emblazoned upon his milky skin. “He is now beyond your clan’s ability to help Grey One; there is only one tribe that can help him come to terms with the power that now resides within him, but you mortals are so obsessed with your free will; I extend to you a choice. You have the right afforded to you by this pretender sitting the Jade Throne to insist this child stay a fosterling of the Crane, but to do so will result in a fracturing of his mind and will destroy his future; or you can show honor and compassion and let him find the aid he needs to help the Empire by sending him to Isawa’s tribe.”
Toshimoko considered his position, to abandon this child to the Phoenix would be to abandon the duty he took upon his shoulders to protect these innocent souls, yet to keep him with the Crane would be sentencing him to a fate worse than the one Toshimoko conspired to spare him.
“Daidoji Kedamono-san,” he barked; an outburst that was echoed with an immediate reply from the crowd. “Hai Kakita-sama.”
“You will take a detachment of the Doji’s Fan and escort this child to your wife’s kin in the Phoenix; there he shall grow into whatever future his destiny may hold. The rest of you,” Toshimoko continued, turning his focus back to the massed army before him, “will escort your newest brothers and sisters home.”
Back in the year 1137
Sifu wrung his hands nervously in his lap. It wasn’t a common occurrence for him to feel so overwhelmed, but he was still young, if not much younger than the one seated before him who held Sifu’s life in his hands. “I have shared my mind with Bayushi Yojiro-dono on the matter of how you may best serve the Scorpion and we are in agreement.” He stated simply as he slid one hand forward, claiming Sifu’s mask as a servant approached with a wrapped bundle.
Exchanging the mask for the burden of the servant, the masked figure laid the package upon the table between them and slowly opened it. “I trust you were old enough at the time of our clan’s banishment that you recognize these.” He asks in a softer, more caring voice, a direct contrast to the previous order to Sifu to remove his mask.
Sifu’s hands reach forward almost unnoticed by the young shugenja and only when they are barely a foot from the items do they stop. With a series of small nods, Sifu confirms his host’s statement. “Hai Shosuro-sama, they were...they were my fathers...I had though they were lost forever when he fell at Oblivion’s Gate.”
The Shosuro Daimyo nodded. “To have fought beside Bayushi Aramoro at his last was a great honor for all who were so fortunate. Your father showed many men just what it means to be a Scorpion samurai.”
A sharp laugh split the sombre air and Yudoka’s eyes flashed up at the out of place reaction. Seeing his gaffe, Sifu’s eyes dropped once more. “My father told me that the greatest legacy a man could leave his descendants was a good example of how to serve as a true samurai Shosuro-dono. I honor his deeds and his blood that flows through my veins, I will learn from his sense of loyalty and duty and I shall serve as loyally he did – however my clan determines is best.”
“Your sensei also told us that you have expressed an uncommon interest in the art of iaijutsu, it seems that in the next few seasons we will experience a few such fascinated parties given the association our students recently had with the Crane Clan in our absence. It is not however something we would normally expect from one of our priests of the kami.”
“It is a simple enough reasoning Shosuro-sama, one proposed to our class by Bayushi Yojiro-dono himself.” Setting down his teacup, Sifu let his gaze wander the room before settling upon an ancient banner behind his host.
“Since our clan’s return, the Scorpion have been in an unenviable position of weakness,” Sifu began, reciting from memory Yojiro’s speech that had so touched his soul. “Our numbers have been depleted by the harsh conditions we have stoically endured and have returned to an Empire that offers not forgiveness for its erroneous accusations...”
Another figure stepped into the room and immediately picked up where Sifu was at and continued the speech.
“...but instead the same prejudices we have willingly borne to perform our duty. We find we need to conserve our resources to rebuild wherever possible and to this end I must be blunt, few of you indeed will be afforded the luxury of a yojimbo to protect your person during your service to the clan. So we encourage any students capable of doing so themselves to incorporate some training in the ways of the martial arts for we shall face many trials in the months and even years to come until we can reclaim the strength we require to secure the safety of the Empire.”
As the figure concluded the speech, Sifu dropped to his knees pressing his head to the floor as a flustered aide came rushing in, kimono flapping behind him.
“Shosuro Yudoka-sama, your next appointment has arrived.” The aide belatedly announced from behind said appointment – Bayushi Yojiro.
Yudoka bowed to his Champion then nodded to the servant before turning his attention back to Sifu. “Shosuro Sifu-san,” Yudoka stated plainly. “You are dismissed. Ensure that you arrive at your first assignment in Tsuma in a timely fashion.” Sifu turns to his daimyo and rises slightly back into seiza, offering him the appropriate bow such a low stance permitted, before pressing his head to the floor once more in Yojiro’s direction. Retreating in Shikko, his new mask and blade in hand, Sifu exited without a sound.
“Will he serve as we hope Yudoka-san?” Yojiro asks as he claims the now vacant seat at the table and drums his fingers upon the table.
The young Shosuro daimyo lifts his eyes to the heavens in response. “We have done all we can Bayushi-sama, we shall just have to wait and see if he is as much of his father’s son as he hopes to be or if his mother’s blood runs thicker in his veins than we hoped. “
The Scorpion Champion picked up his teacup with graceful, arcing movements; the barest of nods signalling Yudoka to move on to the other topics they had to discuss. Yojiro was nothing if not busy these days.
