You can feel the weight of years and the legacy of the one that lies in state here as you walk under the arches of the golden gates, the meters-thick stone archways that allow entry to the tomb of the Hongwu Emperor. The tomb's gardens and the trees shading the ornate path to the structure itself rustle in the winds of the morning, the bright sun overhead casting shadows that seem almost vigilant as you come.
Statues of tomb guardians line what the Chinese call a 'spirit way', the path to the tomb itself. You pass by the bulky forms of stone lions, magic thick in the air as you pass onwards as if to watch you. You move along the path past trees stripped by the winter, seeming to hang in sorrow at the tidings you bear. You smell the sweet scent of incense burning at the statues of the xiezhi, the beasts that symbolized the Ming Censorate as you walk to the tomb of the dynasty's founder.
Well, here we go.
Yet as you come to the Red Gate, the way is shut. Heavy oak bars the doors, the thick walls and iron-banded doors a stark contrast to the bright, almost cheery red paint and polished brass ornamentation on the gateways.
Well and good, if this is as close as you get - so be it. Nanjing will come, else you'll go elsewhere.
It's time to begin. If we wait, this place will be broken and defiled when the Japanese take it.
The circle takes a long, long time to draw. It's as tight as you know how to make it, lined with the marks for containment and purification that your grandmother used to mention when the whisky was scarce and she felt more sober.
Huh. So Grandma was the mage in the famile.
"I call to the city of Nanjing. I call the capital of the Hongwu Emperor, the city of Zheng He, the ancient fortress of the Song. I call upon the guardian and watcher of the walls upon the Qinhuai." The air seems to twist crazily to the Sight, energy madly coalescing and reforming as you watch, flickers of flame curling in the circle.
"I call to thee, city of China, at the time of your peril. Come forth." Ceremonial Mandarin feels foreign and alien on your tongue, the words coming forth in a tumble as you struggle to bring it out. Shadows dance on the stone pathway and the sun seems to dim as there's suddenly a presence in the circle.
YES! Our accent is fucking horrible, like most Americans, but we did it!
A shadow edged with red curls like thick smoke in the circle, eyes the color of brass winking at you from six feet off the ground as a deep basso rumbles out questions that you'll answer - or you'll die. Magic masses thick on the ground here, and the circle's outer curlicues seem to spark a little as you watch. When the little god speaks, your eyes cannot turn away and your throat is dry as parchment, "Speak, little caller of the blood of the eastern rebels. Speak, lest I crush you for your presumption."
Formal Mandarin once more comes forth slowly as you pick your words, explaining America to a city's genius loci that's older than the kingdoms of Europe. "They are of my blood yet not of my nation, spirit of Nanjing. They are an empire on the rise, arrogant and brutal in their assumptions as they march through China."
"Yet they will pass as the Mongols once did. China will endure."
Maybe, but you can't really argue with that sheer apathy. There's another tack though, one that seems to flow easier as you speak, "They will leave little of what China once was. They will leave little of what China now holds. They will not rule here, nor will they stay."
And they don't even have the manpower or logistics to conquer China. What they'll have in a couple years is as far as they'll go, and they will be forced to keep many of their units back among that territory rather than on a frontline.
"Speak on." Attention pins you in place, the qilin near the gates seeming to rumble in concert with the city's spirit.
So speak on you do, Californian accent and formal Mandarin mingling together before the tomb of the Hongwu Emperor. "They come to loot, they come for trophies." You spread your arms theatrically, the heavy weight of the rifle in one hand, "What better trophy than China?"
"You wish to fight them, those of your blood?"
"Not of my nation." You shake your head firmly, "This I swear on what power I have, they are not and will not be my nation."
Hm. If we do something more symbolic to renounce Japan, we may up what rapport we have.
"Perhaps." The spirit considers this, watching you from the curling smoke as the qilin stare. "Yet I cannot be sure. For six thousand years I have watched Nanjing. For six thousand years I have seen governors, kings, and emperors rule this land. For all that time I have guarded the people of the Emperor, killed the risen dead and banished the western fey. In service to the greater rule of heaven and the balance of the land."
It pauses and sweeps an armlike assemblage of smoke towards the north, towards Beijing. "Yet there is no Emperor now. There is no mandate. There is no one China, merely puppets of other powers."
A leering skull comes forth from the smoke, qilin growling hungrily as sheer unadulterated power presses you in place and freezes your arm before it can go for your pistol. "So tell me, little caller, why must I defend this place, where my people have abandoned their Emperor? Why do you call me near the tomb of a man too great for this age, seeking aid for a witless fool against eastern dwarfs?"
So this god's fucked up vampires, told Mab to BEGONE THOT, and generally been the head of the local Celestial Bureaucracy.
But without an Emperor to accept the Mandate of Heaven, there is no command. It's the Three Kingdoms all over again. Also, badass skull-dude.
"Aid for the land you served and the balance you kept, mighty one." Speaking is difficult, the air cloying and a dry throat interrupting your words as they come forth, "For the sake of what once was if not for what will be. For six thousand years you watched, and did your people not slip on that long road? When a child falls on its journey you don't abandon it. You don't leave it to die."
"Aid in the spirit of what once was." The words are heavy in the air, the skull seeming to fade a little
While this is a short-term mission in a short-term quest, we may want to go full Hearts Of Iron 4 and get the legitimate Emperor to overthrow his Japanese masters.
"There are foreign spirits with the foe, standing before my walls. There are western spirits here in the city itself, trespassers in lands that are mine. You wish for aid, little caller? You shall have it, but you will aid me in cleaning my city of the filth that infests it."
I FUCKING KNEW IT! They fucked up big time! They brought Japanese spirits where they are especially weak and vulnerable.
Quick disclaimer: aside from google most of my understanding of Japanese Shinto mythology comes from
Covered In Blood and Surrounded By Spirits.
Obviously not very authoritative, but as far as establishing a 'narrative' to the internal mythology of Shinto, I think it's close enough.
Now, there's one thing to establish as important: Good and Evil is related but separate from Purity and Impurity. The second thing is that the Kami of Shinto operate on similar to what we worked with for the God of Nanjing. Each Kami has a domain, an area of the land it is tied to through a shrine. By offerings akin to taxes from a Lord and the benedictions of priests and Shrine Maidens, the land is made fertile and natural disasters averted. While there are spirits who haunt roads and many different demons that live in the mountains, that is the basic narrative concit of Japan's mystical world writ large. It is a wholly unique and pure land created by Amaterasu, a
What this all means for us here in China is twofold: One, any Kami away from its territory is weakened, and needs to be reconsecrated. So if any Kami are here, then the Japanese are attempting to literally turn China into Japanese soil. Two, any demons/spirits, Youkai in other words, that they do bring are not so easily land-locked or the method of taming them is well-known. The most obvious candidate for what's outside is an Oni. Standing over eight feet tall, devouring humans and livestock, love to get utterly plastered, and exist to torment the living. But make no mistake, they are the finest soldiers of hell, and their clubs are incredibly lethal. Odds are, there are no Blue Oni among their number.
The other likley candidates are Tengu and Kappa. Kappa are less dangerous but are easy to recruit and suited for the battlefield. A Kappa you beat by making it bow to pour out the water on its head or out-wrestling it. They'll suck out your soul or drown you, but they're rigidly formal and so not hard to beat. Tengu are originally Buddist Demons, made of knowledgeable devotees who became too proud to pass on. Yet by the 14th century, they became more associated with martial arts. It is claimed they taught the Koga and Iga clans the art of the Shinobi, are the teachers of the finest swordsmen and swordswomen in Japan,
and even magical guns that never miss. The only saving grace is that Tengu are sometimes portrayed as being very stupid, outwitted by simple yet clever humans.
"Filth?" You gape a little, the sudden turn to dark amusement and anticipation a stark contrast to your imminent death.
"It calls itself an angel." A chuckle from the city's ancient god, "I believe the White God needs to learn some manners, for its refuse has infested my land."
... please tell me we're not dealing with a
Denarian.
