[X] Wind
[X] Female
It's not every day that a riverboat captain gets to catch a glimpse of the
Emperor.
When you saw the Emerald and Gold of the Seppun Guardsmen you kowtowed on the deck of your boat, watching covertly as their unusually small procession passed. At the time, you had thought that it would simply be a passing memory; a story to tell potential children about the day you saw the Emperor from afar. You might have watched him longer, but he was traveling downstream, and you were traveling up; as soon as his procession passed, you exhorted your crew to pull once again so that you could regain the ground you had lost while showing your proper respect. Your unusual voice echoed out over the rippling water, allowing the rowing ronin to pull their oars in unison to the rhythm of timeworn songs.
Then you saw the riders. A host over twice the size of the Seppun, riding fast horses and heavily armed. It was hard to say exactly what led you to realize that something was amiss - the intent looks on their faces, the lather on their horses' flanks, or perhaps just one of those
feelings you tended to get about the moods of people nearby you. To you, every movement of their bodies screamed
hatred, and you knew without a doubt that the Emperor of Rokugan was in danger.
As soon as they passed over the next hill you turned back to your crew. "Turn the boat," you commanded.
"What? We're behind already! At this rate we won't make it to Zakyo Toshi until after sundown!" The man who spoke up was Gohei, a newer addition to your crew with a Crab-style mustache and rippling muscles. His face reddened with poorly-concealed anger and he crossed his arms almost petulantly. "We have deliveries to make, we can't be turning around to chase bandits and getting ourselves killed. It's not like the seven of us are going to make any difference."
You pick up your oar. It's not quite the same as the tools your crew are even now dipping in the water - the
eku is a weapon, a wide-cut cross between a true oar and a bo staff, and yours has been lovingly painted to match the tattoos that prove your status as a
waka gashira, an elder sister of the Bawdy Carp Riverboat Gang. Pointing the battle oar at Gohei's face you look him dead in the eyes over your personal emblem of a jumping catfish. You can see his eyes flicker to your cheek, where the red stain of your cursed birthmark lies, and you can tell that he is afraid. "Those bandits are heading straight for the Emperor. And more to the point, I gave you an order. We're turning."
After a second Gohei scowls. "Tcheh. Even bandits aren't stupid enough to mess with the Seppun Guardsmen. It's gonna be your neck when we have to explain to the oyabun why the shipment's late." There is a similar murmur of resentment from the rest of the ronin, but you silence them all with a glare.
"Yes. It is. Now shut up and ROW, damn you! Stroke! Stroke!" You shout, and heave on the tiller. Reluctantly your 'little brothers' follow your orders and tend to their oars. Slowly the boat turns, then picks up speed as the river catches it and urges it onwards. Gohei sits and pulls on his oar, and you head downstream at a much faster pace than you traveled up.
For all that your clear voice calls out a brutally fast pace, your oarsmen are tired and the river becomes treacherous as night begins to fall. You navigate by sight for as long as you can, then turn to instinct and memory as the sun sets and the sky grows dim. The black riders remain stubbornly ahead of you as the pit in your stomach grows deeper. You are almost ready to give up when you notice that the red light on the horizon is not the fading embers of sunset at all, but rather the glow of firelight. The smell of smoke is on the wind, and you can hear the distant shouts of battle. By now even Gohei's doubt has been replaced by fierce determination, "That's them!" you cry. "Forward, together now!"
A hundred more strokes of the oars, and your boat glides silently up to the shore of the burning village. In the fire and darkness of the Village of Sacred Stone all of the warriors appear as though clad in black, but by some miracle of the Kami you are not too late. The battle still rages, and you can see a small knot of soldiers being backed towards the water by a menacing ring of enemies. The dishonorable bandits are bearing torches, and from long experience with night work you know that their night vision will be ruined, giving you and yours a chance to strike from stealth.
"Get ready!" you say in a harsh whisper to your crew. "We'll hit them together."
The youngest member of your crew, Miki, speaks up in a whisper to match your own. "There must be thirty of them! What can the seven of us do?"
"We can get the Emperor to the boat," you say, and you lower yourself as silently as possible to the sandy riverbank. Your brothers may be ronin, but when confronted with a clear duty to their Emperor none of them falters, all of them following you with weapons in hand. You can feel their hearts beating as one with yours, the sick anticipation of battle and an iron determination to do their duty that outweighs any trace of fear. Your white-painted eku glows in the firelight as you raise it over your head like a battle standard. In silence, your men draw their katanas and prepare to charge. You take a deep breath and you SHOUT, a singer's voice turned into a clarion cry for honor and glory. "HAAAAAAANNNNN-" You swing the oar down, and the voices of your 'little brothers' join in as you charge as one! "TEEEEEIIIIII!"
It is hard to say whose shock is more profound as you charge the burning village, the attackers or the defenders. You pull ahead of your tired crew as you rush the enemy bushi; you are the first to confront a black-clad assassin, and you can see wide white eyes behind their cloth mask as you rush to close the distance. He has just enough time to try to dodge before your eku lashes out like a serpent in a vicious crescent, catching him right where the shoulder meets the neck. You hear a sickening snap, and he falls to the ground like a bag of rice.
"For the Honor of the Empire! Get the Emperor to the boat!"
Not for the first time your peculiar gifts of insight save you as you feel a sudden burst of hatred and killing intent. Black-armored figures strike at you, strangely curved swords that are closer to skinny parangu than true katana whistling past you in the dark as you weave back and forth between the blows. You dance in the firelight of a burning village, using the superior length of your oar to keep your assailants at bay while backing up ever closer to your escape route. As the press of enemies upon you grows too thick, you thrust your wooden oar into the burning thatch and pitch of one of the nearby huts and slam the flames into an assassin's face; in the same motion you sprint the few remaining feet back to the boat where your brothers are dragging a man in Chrysanthemum-emblazoned armor aboard.
In front of you, one of the Seppun turns and shouts. "Get the Emperor to safety! We'll hold them off!"
You scramble into the boat, then stick your burning oar into the water with a hiss of steam and push against the muddy bank. "Row, you dogs!" You shout. "Grab your oars and go! Go! Go!" Your little brothers heave to, and slowly but surely the boat eases back into the river. You dig your oar into the water with biting motions and the village slowly but surely pulls away. Arrows begin to hiss through the darkness at you, some soaked with burning pitch, but in the darkness and by the grace of the Kami, only a few are aimed correctly. The flaming ones you are able to swat out of the air with your oar, but the bladed heads are much faster and more vicious. Some of them find purchase in the bodies of your crew, and you hear shouts of pain even as they continue rowing for their lives.
However what between aching and injured bodies of you and your crew and the river, slowly but surely the current brings you away from the conflict, with arrows falling further and further behind the stern of your ship.
As the fires of the village recede behind you, slowly the sounds of battle are replaced with the night breeze and the ripples of water. Lord Moon shines high and bright in the sky, and you can dimly make out the features of the man who can only be Emperor Hantei, thirty-first of his line. He meets your eyes and does not flinch or make any sign of revulsion despite the fact that you know your birthmark must be clearly visible. Perhaps he thinks it is a scar, or a burn, because all you can feel from him is gratitude.
"Honorable Ronin," your Emperor says, "I would have your name."
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