Prelude - Genji, Hakusa, Kenji, Tomoe

When the former shogunate commisioned the series of post stations along the entire Nakasendo route with the objective of enabling travellers making the journey from Heian to Yedo would be able to pace their journey according to the distance a traveller could cover within a day, one of the stops was decidedly built around, or more specifically, just below the long established Iwata Teahouse. The rest inn and small smattering of shops dotted themselves around the Owari Bridge to provide various services to travellers, and a snaking path up a side cliff took one to the teahouse itself, which commanded a scenic view of the river and the hustle and bustle of the bridge. Even in the current days of obscuring darkness which painted over the breathtaking scenery with an indigo smear, it provided a respite for those who remembered the old ways.

"Tomoe Takahashi, faithful retainer of Lord Hojo Nakamichi." Tomoe found herself at a disadvantage, for she did not recall where she had formerly met this samurai who addressed her. "Our armies clashed at the siege of Tachigawa, though our blades have not yet crossed. Forgive my surprise, it was rumoured that you were dead when clan Hojo fell." While Tomoe still did not recognise the speaker, she did however find the massive person who had stepped forward much closer towards her table much more familiar. Surely that was the reputable Genji Ōtsuka, the sekitori sumo of Izushima. Now he was the second person in succession to stare her, but with a much more menacing glare than the first stranger. Tomoe's hoped-for mood at the teahouse was rapidly going downhill.

For Genji was indeed glaring at the female samurai seated at his favourite spot. Or more rightly he would regard her as ronin, for she wore no identifying crest, but carried a katana by her side with all the ease of a swordsperson. She only caught his stare after she tore her eyes away from the person she was speaking with, yet another swordsman. "Saito Kajime, Tenshin Sekitori-ryu," was what Genji heard, for the swordsman did not introduce himself by allegiance to a lord, but instead to his martial arts affliation. From his longstanding practice as a professional wrestler, the declaration of one's fighting school was the proper prelude to a match. But surely this fighter was not intending to challenge the female ronin to a duel in the premises of a teahouse?

Now some of the other patrons were beginning to pay the trio some attention.

Genji did not like the start of this journey. Minor as it may be he would not begin with the unfortuitous first evening NOT sitting at his favorite spot at the Teahouse. And what's more this pompous samurai was going to spoil the evening with blood shed with this inconvenient ronin. Genji's patience ran out.

"Oy! What is this!? My place taken by a ronin and the evening threatened by ego and hot heads!? It will not do!"

Genji places his massive hand on Saito's shoulder and shoves him down onto a stool at the outside table opposite Tomoe. Genji squats onto his own stool at the table with an audible cry from the stool straining under his bulk.

"The only contest tonight will be of drink and tales, and I will be the judge! SAKE!", Genji calls out with a roar as he stabs his think fingers down into the table with a thunderous din.

"I believe my Lord has mistaken me for someone else," Tomoe states. "I am not who you think I am."

She stands up, removes her straw hat, placing it on the table, and then kneels on the floor. She joins her hands in front of her and bows deeply to everyone present, The sumotori, the warrior who has presented himself before her, and the Lord who has identified her. Rising, she looks at them with a gaze filled with sadness, tinged with a furrowed brow that gives her an air of melancholic fury.

"It is clear that my presence has offended the Lords. I apologize. I will trouble you no further."

Tomoe stands up, retrieves her hat, puts it back on, leaves a ryo on the table, and prepares to leave.

The brusque sumo Genji would have defused the situation with his homespun informality as he sized up the situation before him between the quiet ronin who had taken his usual seat, and the forthright samurai who had recognised the ronin.

For Tomoe Takahashi, formerly of clan Hojo, did indeed know who Saito Kajime was, for Saito had spoken truthfully about the their armies having met before. The civil war had not been kind to all involved; internecine conflict rarely was. The forces of the Emperor were victorious, the daimyos of the old shogunate defeated and their armies scattered, leaving Tomoe without a lord. Interestingly, from the way Saito had introduced himself, and from the company with him, an elderly tradesman rather than a full retinue, he was also not beholden to any lord. He had addressed her as equals, but did not foresee how Tomoe was about to respond next ...

... for Genji had settled himself and loudly summoned sake, being a seasoned duelist himself he knew a potential fight if he saw one. But he liked his favourite teahouse too much to risk anything happening to it. He made the mistake of clapping Saito on the shoulder though, for the samurai's hand instinctively went to his sword, with a flick of the thumb against its tsuba to push the katana out, ready to draw. In fact Saito would've drawn the entire blade out ...

... had it not been for Tomoe's unexpected and extraordinary action that caught everyone offguard, and drew gasps from patrons at the nearby tables. She had knelt down with a full bow, an action only ever taken to offer the deepest of apologies. Saito was utterly taken aback, stunned, and sat down with a thump under Genji's massive push, "What is the meaning of- ?" He spluttered, "Surely you are Tomoe Takahashi, exponent of the Kiri Hiten-ryu. What has become of you?" He sounded familiar with Tomoe's fighting school as well, the blade of the heavenly fog. What he wouldn't have known was what Tomoe now called herself.

Kenji had found his way to the curving bend of the Nakasendo trail where the Iwata Teahouse sat. It was late afternoon, although the constant twilight that covered the land made it hard to distinguish day and night. The small handful of shops nearer the Owari Bridge below were still open, and travellers were still going about their way to reach the next post station. The former samurai made his way to the entrance of the teahouse, only to be greeted with a loud scream by exiting patrons: "Yūrei warrior!" was the exclamation! It referred to a ghost or revenant of the battlefield, given the way Kenji was fully armoured and wearing his massive sword.

The commotion was heard all the way inside the teahouse premises, loud enough for Genji and Tomoe to hear.

Tomoe, on the verge of leaving, pauses and turns toward the samurai, who persists in addressing her by her former name. She bows, this time only slightly.

"I mean no offense to my Lord, but it is my understanding that that woman perished along with her Clan. What kind of samurai could continue living beneath the weight of such shame?"

At that moment, the startled cries of the costumers drew Tomoe’s attention to the entrance, where she spotted a warrior clad in full armor, armed for battle.

"Let no one be alarmed. Whether this warrior is bound for battle or returning from it, in this teahouse, he may find only a few moments of peace." She cast a pointed glance at the newcomer. "Surely, he has not come to disturb that of those present."

The frightened screams of the patrons of the teahouse made the tall, battle-hardened warrior flinch internally, but he remained stoic and calm, with a commanding presence.

He continued through the entrance, and people scattered to avoid his dirty, stinking presence. His left arm, severed in the middle of the forearm, was ruined and festering with infection. His boots were caked with mud and the clothing outside of his armor was tattered. He looked as though he just come from battle...and lost.

There hadn't been a war in these parts for over a year, but Kenji was not aware of the length of time that had passed since he was given the breath of a new, miserable life.

His eyes immediately scanned the room, looking for threats. It appeared as though a tense situation had just happened, but everyone's eyes had turned to him.

A big sumo wrestler - strong as an ox, but unarmed, from what Kenji could see. A samurai lord, with a hand on the hilt of his katana. An armed woman who moved with a grace and purpose that belied her appearance - she was a formidable one and perhaps the threat he took most seriously.

He knew that his appearance would be hostile - he wore the gear of battle in a small, peaceful village. He was desperate, and he knew how to utilize fear to accomplish his objectives. But he was a man of honour once, and he would not steal from the innocent nor disrupt this teahouse he had visited several times...before everything had changed.

Kenji saw one of the wide-eyed, frozen hosts working in the establishment and held out a gloved fist, holding a small pouch dangling from a string. He bowed deeply.

"Please excuse my poor appearance," he said in a gruff, deep voice. "I have traveled from afar. I come in peace and wish to pay for a warm meal, hot tea, and a bath. I also wish to purchase clean clothes and visit a healer. I have ryu."

Saito returned a slight, slow bow at Tomoe's near fatalistic yet contemplative observation of her status and outlook, recognising both the fortitude of such a philosophy alongside the sense of loss. "I decline your addressing me as lord, but I would ask what name you would now go by, so that I may address you correctly as you walk this path you have chosen."

He did not have a chance to wait for Tomoe's reply, for at that moment, the commotion at the entrance of the teahouse drew his attention as well as Tomoe's.

The proprietor, of whom those who lived near the area such as Genji knew as Banrei, had rushed out even as his service staff stood by the entrance door confounded at what to do next. Further out from the teahouse, it appeared as if some alert had been communicated through the little district that sat just under the teahouse, for there was some who appeared to try to shutter their shops, as well as those who looked to prepare themselves for a confrontation. It was likely that the constable, or doshin, would hear of the incident soon.

"My lord," Banrei greeted with a smooth bow, which belied his nervousness, "my humble establishment is unworthy to provide for your needs." He had already beckoned his staff to bring suitable refreshments. "I will send for Doshin Reijima immediately, and perhaps she can send word to Makuni Castle to receive you." This was all familiar to Kenji, the custom of the feudal days where he served under a daimyo, who in turn swore allegiance to the shogun. Things had changed in this Restoration era, of course, with the dismantling of the class structure, but Banrei had instinctively defaulted to obeisance at the sight of a fully-armoured samurai warrior, even a disheveled and dreadful one as Kenji.

For in such a situation in the old days, it was only Tomoe, or Saito, who could speak to or deal with such an individual as equals. Saito had turned to look, but did not act immediately. Was he deferring to Tomoe to do so?

Genji still sat at his spot, his request for sake momentarily forgotten by the staff.

Kenji bowed his head a small amount, enough to acknowledge the hospitality but not enough to recognize the proprietor as anything more than was deserved for such a station. The room was far too quiet for a teahouse with several patrons inside, but as he breathed in the air and his mouth watered at the smell of food and drink, he could only stand still and take in the scene.

The big warrior stood like a statue, awaiting the doshin, and though his head remained fixed in place, his eyes looked to the samurai and the woman he had been speaking with. Would the samurai address him and answer questions for him? Was this samurai a friend or foe? Even with one arm, Kenji believed that no one would challenge him in this teahouse. He knew that he was intimidating, and had the element of surprise...and perhaps disgust...on his side in this moment. He looked for signs that the samurai would be at the least neutral and observe the cultural niceties that were the norm for him. At least before.

The big sumo was threatening by nature - so big and so strong - but also unarmed and vulnerable, and it was unknown for the sumos to challenge the great samurai, no matter their allegiance. But still, Kenji was in a fight or flight mode, and flight was not in his vocabulary. He needed to maintain his bearing and presence until he had more information.

What had become of his daimyo and House that he fought for? Why did he breathe, despite the untended injury to his arm? What had happened to the sun? What had become of the war? Why had everything changed?

He felt lost and had nothing but his instincts and his honor, his beloved odachi, and a small coin purse. He would seek answers, and he would eat and change out of his battle gear.

But for this moment, he would wait. For what else could he do? Honor would not allow him to simply take what he needed, desperate or no. He would stand and starve until he fell before he would dishonor himself or his Lord.

Genji took in the surrounding scenario with the tension brought by the new samurai. His eyes shifted from face to face waiting for someone to either escalate or break the tension. All the while his fingers tapped impatiently in the table awaiting his sake and dinner.

In Genji's original plans, he had hoped that a proper evening of eating and drinking in a mountain side teahouse was both a good use of his recent earnings and an uplifting indulgence for his contemplations. But at this point, things were entirely not as he imagined it would be. The teahouse, a popular destination for weary travellers, successful merchants and even diverse tourists for its once lovely view of the Kiso river and the Owari bridge crossing, was somehow infested with samurai today. No fewer than three of them had arrived, each with their own agenda. Of particular note was the ronin who wanted nothing than to disappear, and that was a contrast to the lost warrior who appeared to have emerged from a battle. This last was a concern, for the situation was preventing Genji from having his sake served!

Banrei's server had of course quickly laid out a table for Kenji to sit at, right at the outdoor entrance. Tomoe was right in her observation, in that the lost warrior was not here to disturb the peace. The food service for Genji must have gotten redirected to Kenji's table, while Banrei explained why the constable would take some time to arrive. In the lawful administration of the land, whether in the era of the shogunate or under the emperor today, territories were prefectures taken care of by their governors, rather than ruled over by daimyos. A central police force took care of law and order, and smaller districts had their own constabulary. The doshin, or constable, was responsible for their district.

Samurai would have been perceived as a representation of the older era under the shogunate, a warrior class, something the new order had no place for. This would partly explain why Tomoe sought to remain invisible and forgotten. This would also explain why the emergence of a sword-carrying warrior such as Kenji was met with such consternation, apart from his unusually wild appearance. Best to let the police handle it.

Banrei of course was still a businessman, and had quietly slipped the ryo payment into the folds of his pocket.

There was one final Genji was about to find out that would further ruin his evening. Kenji had caused a commotion when he cut through the outpost station by the bridge to find his way to the teahouse. While things quietened for a moment, a greater uproar now threw the vendors and travellers into chaos: three other figures, each similarly armoured in bloodied battle gear, shambled down the row of shops, treading along the exact same steps as Kenji took earlier. The difference was that Kenji had come deliberately and seeking shelter. These three seemed to shamble with a strange gait, and alarmingly, they had their swords out!

That was the move that immediately dismayed Hakusa as well as he followed some distance behind. The walking undead had marched through the woods unencumbered, but their behaviour changed as they neared civilisation. Would it make a difference to their potential aggressiveness if they were somehow redirected?

"You are under attack! Defend yourselves!"

Hakusa yelled as loudly as his sick and broken body could manage. He could not be idle, not when he could prevent suffering through his own action. He hustled now, nocking an arrow as he tried to close to range in order to shoot down the rampaging yokai.

"The dead are attacking! Defend yourselves." He repeated his earlier warning. Having to slow himself lest he pass out from exertion he slowed and began to draw tension on his bowstring, cheating the draw as he added a bit of torque with his wrist. The laquered bamboo bow limbering brought a fresh pain in his elbow. Fortunately his bandages were holding. Nothing new had fallen off, yet.

The shopkeepers were already unnerved earlier with the sudden appearance of Kenji cutting through the road to reach the teahouse. Now, Hakusa's cry only agitated them further; they needed no further urging to respond and a flurry of activity occurred, whether to take cover or, presumably for the bolder ones, to take up arms. Hakusa's warning did reach the ears of the stream of travellers at the bank of the river they just crossed; they appeared more bewildered, scrambling to look to see what was going on.

Up by the Iwata teahouse, Tomoe and Genji could see Saito frown as he strode towards Kenji, looking like he was about to confront the one-armed swordsman, while the other patrons also reacted with concern.

Rollin

Kenji watched with steely-eyed caution as the samurai stood and walked toward him. Would this be a friendly confrontation between honorable peers? Or would this brave samurai challenge Kenji's unexpected disturbance of the peaceful teahouse? Kenji was disoriented and hungry - he did not want a fight.

But there was a code, and it must be followed. A challenge could not be ignored, and honor required him to meet any challenge to himself or his lord daimyo. But he would not do it in this place, if it could be helped. He would invite the challenger to a more appropriate place, if it came to that. Please, do not come to that.

Before the samurai could open his mouth, a cry from outside gained Kenji's attention. Under attack? Defend yourselves? The dead? The approaching samurai looked toward the door, taking his determined eyes off of Kenji for the moment.

Kenji stood up and turned to see what the commotion was, and his right hand instinctively felt for his odachi.

Could this night get any worse?

Genji stands at his table to get a better view of the additional interlocutor shouting about being under attack and preparing for combat. This is more than a man could take.

Genji stopped, closed his eyes, and took three deep breaths. When he opens his eyes again his heart beat slowed, his breathing evened. With a slap of his hands chalk dust filled the air. An audible hum begin to emminate from from Genji as his feet widened into a stance both grounded and mobile.

His eyes narrowed as he saw 4 new comers weaving down the path between shops and vendors. Three shambled with and unnatural gate. The fourth... was that a Leper!?

The misunderstanding was as Kenji feared. Saito had turned away from his interaction with Tomoe, "Matters require us, I trust you have not forgotten your honour the same way you seem to have forgotten your name," he said stiffly to the ronin with all the rigidity of one who still followed the old code.

The samurai now stepped towards Kenji who was still attracting the attention of those present. His tone here was less pleasant that his interaction with Tomoe. "There." Saito now held his katana, still sheathed, and used it to point at the undead that must have followed Kenji's trail to the bridge station. "Call off your minions. Or I will strike you down first."

Up at the teahouse, Genji wasn't sure yet if the undead warriors were likely to make their way up to the teahouse, which was the conclusion Saito had chosen to assume. But they would certainly wreak havoc below among the travellers and vendors. Tomoe had quickly and accurately assessed that the teahouse was not defensible; but more concerningly, the flimsy stalls below were even more useless as a place for people to take shelter, and the bridge was an open space.

Was there a way to reroute the deadly shambling warriors, or would it be better to confront them head on? At this point, only Hakusa could do something about it. He would be shooting into a crowd, but that was what his Owashi-Kyudo was for, to centre his thoughts and focus.

Hakusa noting an arrow was already lodged in the shoulder of one of the warriors instead looked for a means of distracting and redirecting the dead.

Hakusa did not rush into the situation, despite its seeming urgency. Not that he could move with any great speed anyway. The focus of aiming helped him see further as his sight became one with the arrow shaft. He could see that their battle armour, deteriorated as they were, could still absorb most of the impact of his shots. He could see them move unwaveringly in a straight course, and that was significant, because they didn't seem to turn to the left or right, but only threatened to attack whoever was in front of them. What he could not figure out was how to get them to change their course.

That meant that the few travellers who were either too slow to get out of the way or too stunned to react were in the undead warriors' direct line of sight. One of the farmers tried to drop his wooden backpack in haste to run faster, but the deadly blade of one of the yurei samurai felled him with one clean stroke, cutting through both man and wood!

Genji sees more clearly now. These are not mere rogue samurai, these are evil undead. Yokai! Yurei! Genji's hand move instinctively to the silver talisman hanging from his neck, hidden in his robes. He watches as a poor peasant is cut down with a swift strike. The yurei continue to amble on. There are to many people in the village. Old. Slow. Defenseless. More will die.

Genji looks around at more samurai at this teahouse than he has seen in years. Are they frozen in fear? Genji knew now was the time for strength... for fortitude, and he would show that now. With surprising grace he moves quickly down the path away from the teahouse toward the undead.

Genji was not one to judge quickly. Yet there were samurai present in the teahouse but none of them had immediately taken action yet, too caught up in their own code of conduct. Saito was focussed on the raggedy one-armed samurai, and the one he had heard addressed as Tomoe seemed to want to remain nameless. But at heart Genji was of the earth. The sumo's ring, or dohyo, was pounded clay, that gave him unshakeable fortitude. And it was this stability that brought him swiftly off his stool, out of the teahouse and down the steps to the bank of the river, right in front of the road, ready to meet the reanimated threats that appeared ready to annihilate all living things that surrounded them.

Genji bore no weapons; sumo did not wear armour. But all he needed was his fists. They were enough. Strangely, his talisman gleamed in anticipation of his readiness to fight.

The one-armed warrior, seeing the violence on the street...a samurai, dead or no, cutting down an unarmed civilian... this dishonor awoke in him his code.

He stepped out of the teahouse and into the path of the undead samurai. For they would have to cut through him, Kenji, to cause further dishonor. And that would not be easy for them, no it would not.

He drew his odachi with his one good arm...

The yurei were indiscriminate, but also senseless, from what Hakusa continued to observe. They continued down the middle of the street attacking whomever was immediately in their path, and the innocents did not need any further prompting to get out of their way. Up ahead of them was the bridge crossing; those stuck there would have no means to avoid their killing blades, short of diving into the water. But perhaps, as Hakusa inferred, these undead were not headed towards the bridge, but would veer off towards the steps leading up to the teahouse.

If they did, they would find their way blocked, for Hakusa saw a mountain of a man, a sumotori, descend with quick grace to emplace himself at the foot of the steps. Genji had left the bickering samurai to their ineffective devices, to deal with the invasion. He had noted that right at the back with another strange figure, but this one was a cripple in worn robes, not a trio of stalking warriors in armor.

Hakusa, trusting his instinct that redirecting the dead was the best course of action. He looked for something he could topple into the dead, finding a decaying merchants tent. He waited, drew, rehearsed the shot in his head and released. Intent on knocking the tent into the yurei.

"Peace, dono. I am Kenji Kamukara of House Tanaka. I am no yurei, and you will do nothing of the kind. It is our part to defend these folk. Draw your blade, samurai, but until we have vanquished those, I have no quarrel with you." Kenji bowed, but kept his eyes on the unfamiliar samurai.

And with that, Kenji exposed his mostly unprotected back to the samurai, a sign of vulnerability, and moved swiftly toward the violent horde of zombie-samurai, ready to defend the peaceful village and earn his honor...or his valiant death.

That Kenji spoke honourably with the proper demeanour of a samurai, as he truly was, gave Saito pause in his overreaction, lest he was judging the disheveled one-armed warrior too harshly. The real threat remained, and the unyielding Saito was as ready to defend the innocent from the inexplicable undead who had arisen. Turning one's back might be construed as an insult, but the swiftness at which Kenji charged down and what he had declared he would do would prove his genuine desire to fight the yurei.

Hakusa stood his ground from afar, knowing better than to attempt to engage the three vicious undead directly. One of them had veered towards the tentage of a refreshment stall, katana ready to cut down the vendor, but the yamabushi made the near impossible shot, one that cut the rigging hemp tying down the roof. The woven straw structure collapsed, burying the zombie samurai beneath. It wouldn't be enough to destroy the undead, but hopefully it would entrap it sufficiently for a while. Now to make sure the vendor could escape from underneath unscathed!

The crashing topple of the straw structure buried one of the zombies. Genji looked toward the leper with a raised eye brow admiring the skillful shot. But there was no more time to honor the mastery of bowmanship for in front of him heading towards the Teahouse stairs was another of the monsters.

Genji slides forward with poise compressing his form before releasing his full strength forward toward the creature with open palms and a thunderous momentum.

The sumo eschewed weaponry; only the samurai class carried swords, others made good with all manner of other implements, and the secretive shinobi, had their own set of deadly equipment. Only the sumo no toride relied on the power of their own bodies: their incredible mass, their unshakeable stance, their implacable hands. From Genji came a charging blow with the full momentum of his palm strike, which blew past the undead's slashing katana and landed squarely on its chest.

The yurei staggered, its dilapidated oyoroi armour absorbing most of the blow, enough to prevent immediate destruction. But Genji could hear decayed ribs crack and shatter as its chest caved it. What he didn't expect was a slight warmth from his pendant as it gleamed for a moment, followed by a strange phenomenon. The undead warrior before him froze from its initial damage, and continued to remain motionless, its sword sagging until the wrist holding it up appeared to split. There was much Genji did not know about the talisman he owned; did it even play a part here?

Saito was taken aback that Kenji had turned to leap into battle. Perhaps he had misjudged the odd-looking samurai, despite his appearance that matched the yurei attacking the bridge junction. If he were indeed an honourable champion, Saito would fight alongside such a warrior, and leapt forward with him.