Desnus 23, 4713 (early afternoon, Osogen Grasslands)

Finding Jiro’s camp was so easy we practically stumbled into it. After several hours passing farm after farm and village after village, each one looking more and more like the one before it, I thought we’d be stuck wandering out here for weeks. But the funny thing about rebel armies is that they have to train, and you just don’t see many farmers practicing in their fields with bows and arrows. Not dozens of them, anyway. In the same place. All at once. So you might say this kind of stood out. It really was as ridiculously easy as Miyaro had suggested: follow the river and look around.

Part of me wonders if it’s wise for them to hold military-style drills like this so brazenly, even up here in the north. But there is, I suppose, the notion of hiding in plain sight. With bandits plaguing this region, and an unsympathetic (if not outright hostile) daimyo overseeing it, people do need to protect themselves, their families, and their homes. How unusual would it be for a ronin and samurai to help teach the common folk to defend themselves? Aren’t there stories of ronin wandering the countryside, saving villages from threats both mystical and terrene? What better cover could they have?

Their drill sergeant, Hatsue, is a serious if not humorless woman who is not one for idle talk. Figuring we had the right place—because how could it not be?—we stopped and watched them practice for a while. Eventually, she figured out that we weren’t going to leave, which I am sure she didn’t find suspicious or alarming at all, and started walking our way. That’s when Olmas and Dasi rode out to meet her.

I had no idea what they were saying to one another, and was just wondering what version of the truth she was getting when Olmas waved me over. So I guess it’s the merchant story, then?

I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve spun these lies. Enough that I can almost believe them myself. I don’t even have to try to be convincing anymore. All that mastery was lost on Hatsue, though: she was quickly distracted by my naginata, which I had very deliberately brought with me. She kept glancing at it while I spoke, and I could see that moment when recognition dawned. What can I say? I like to save time.

“How did you come across that?”

I let Dasi answer first. “We discovered a hold in the Forest of Spirits. We investigated, and found it deep inside.”

Then I added, “We took it from a ja noi oni that was living there.”

Hatsue was not exactly impressed. “It was obviously stolen by the oni, and it should be returned to the noble house that it belongs to.”

And there’s the rub. We know the noble houses are all extinct, save for the Amtatsus. And I said as much, leaving out the latter, crucial detail of course. “How do we return it to a house that no longer exists?”

Hatsue answered that the daimyo here would be the appropriate owner, but her eyes kind of clouded over and her expression hardened as she said it. I was not in the mood for bullshit so I called her on it. Lacking a good answer, and somewhat taken aback by my impeccable social graces, she suggested we meet with her commander, the one and only Hirabashi Jiro, and discuss the matter.

I think I am making this sound worse than it really was. Honestly, she was just suspicious: of us, our intentions, and I suppose even our story of the Forest. I would be, too, in her position. Given how abruptly her day had gone from routine to peculiar, I was impressed she held her composure.

That may have something to do with her dedication to Irori. It took only a few minutes with her to figure that one out. I mean, I would know, right? She had the kind of discipline that only comes from the constant study and training. The kind I wasn’t capable of, myself.

I was surprised to see a Shogi board set up in the command tent. There are countless variations of this game around the Inner Sea: Chanturanga, Samanty, and Senterej come to mind, so naturally it caught my attention. When I asked about it, her whole demeanor changed and we kind of got lost in a discussion of rules, play strategies, and even her game in progress. Clearly, I had found her passion. We were still in the weeds when Jiro entered, glanced over at us, and then shook his head while muttering something under his breath. I don’t know what he said, but it was clearly the manner of someone who had seen this scene play out dozens of times before.

We gave Jiro a more complete version of our story, including the tale of the Amatatsu family fleeing across the Crown of the World to safety, and the surviving heir to the throne. You might say that he was skeptical, the way one might say they like breathing. I was half-expecting him to laugh in our faces. Then Olmas pulled out Suishen—who of course remained stubbornly silent because that’s just the way it is—and that changed the tone gods-be-damned fast. Just wait until you find out who Ameiko is.

After a long silence, he said, “You seem to be collecting ancestral weapons.”

I wisely didn’t say anything. The first two responses to enter my mind were unlikely to move the conversation in a positive direction.

He took our measure by giving us a thought experiment of sorts: A samurai, loyal to her daimyo, is brought before a peasant. She is given two blades, and ordered to test them and see if they can behead a man in a single stroke. What is the honorable thing for the samurai to do?

The obvious answer, of course, is to refuse to obey, and leave the service of her daimyo because honor does not trump morality. But there is also the peasant, who is presumably an innocent man, whose life is now in danger, and who the samurai has also sworn to protect. So she must ensure his safety, which may mean killing her daimyo in defense of the peasant’s life.

Of course, real life isn’t this simple. In Ordu-Aganhei, the Prince did something very much like this, and no one stepped up to stop him. Why? Because they feared for their lives, and their family’s lives, and probably the lives of anyone they knew. So an act of defiance may have repercussions far beyond your personal exigency.

Zosi pointed out that, in an honor-bound culture such as Minkai, such actions can stain your family for generations. In which case the correct answer is for the samurai to kill the daimyo to protect the peasant, and then herself to preserve her honor. Except, again, in the real world I don’t think it’s this simple. Honor isn’t a shield. There’s no guarantee your family won’t be punished just because you did the favor of punishing yourself. And “death” and “death with honor” both start with “death”.

Jiro and Hatsue fell on different sides of this debate. Hatsue was all for killing herself to preserve her honor, while Jiro took the more reasonable stance that a dead man can’t help people. It’s probably an old debate between them, just rehashed with fresh voices.

It was a lively discussion, but it did little to convince Jiro that we could produce an heir, or rally anyone behind us in a march on Kasai. So, as I had predicted, he’s asked us to prove ourselves and our commitment first. I wonder how often this is going to happen. Is everyone we meet between here and the Five Storms going to demand we do them some favor? It will be an endless chain of “just this one thing”.

Desnus 24, 4713 (morning, ravine near the Kosokunami River)

We’ve spent the last 12 hours camped in a dense region of the woods away from the fortress the bandits have occupied, under cover of a spell that suppresses our light and sounds so that we don’t attract attention. The ones who came here by Qatana’s spell are also taking turns scouting the fortress, keeping an eye on the guard changes and any new arrivals (or departures). Unless something significant changes, we’re going to take it tonight—or more precisely, early in the morning—after the owl shift comes on duty.

Jiro calls this place Seinaru Heikiko. Apparently it was built by his ancestors generations ago, and they served one of the royal families. He wasn’t forthcoming with a lot of details, like what it’s doing in the hands of bandits, which is a sign that either either doesn’t know or doesn’t want to talk about it. My guess is it’s the latter. But it’s still a good question. We’re told they’ve since renovated the place, repairing and reinforcing some structures so that it would serve as a suitable fortress for themselves. A quick look when we got here confirmed that. As long as you were trying to approach from the ground, you’d be hard pressed to make it inside.

We won’t be approaching from the ground. Do this right, and we’ll make it inside without making a sound. Whether we can keep it that quiet remains to be seen, but the farther we can go without raising an alarm the better.

I can’t help but draw parallels to Ravenscraeg. The cliffs of this ravine are less intimidating, and the fortress itself is on the ground, but there’s enough in common to put them in the same category. It’s yet another “break in to the fortress in the middle of the night” deal, made easy by their defensive strategy which is seemingly based on a frontal assault on the ground. In another life, maybe instead of attacking we could sell them a better security plan.

Why is this even necessary? Apparently, the daimyo here is a real piece of work, which explains why the normally-disciplined Hatsue had trouble hiding her contempt. These bandits operate here, and grow in strength and numbers, because literally no one is stopping them. Which means the daimyo has given them tacit permission to do as they please. It’s a good way to keep the people living in fear, and probably to also keep them from organizing.

Part of me thinks the daimyo is going to have to go, too. That’s pretty seditious of me, but isn’t that why we’re here? Mom would say that politics tend to be local, and that average person is more concerned with living day to day than who sits on some throne. If that’s true, then solving their immediate problems here might build the support Ameiko needs. This is obviously Jiro’s theory as well.

We may get more than just good will out of it. Jiro says there’s a vault of sorts somewhere inside and that vault can, supposedly, only be opened by a member of a royal family. Take the fortress and open the vault, and we’ll be proving to Jiro that we can produce an heir of the Amatatsu family. That would give Ameiko more than just public support: it’d be giving her legitimacy. Of course, Jiro doesn’t know that there are, in fact, six of us that can do that (ten, if you count Ana, Etayne, Sparna and Kelda), but I don’t see the need to concern him with this pesky detail. Especially since we’d then have to explain it, and I am not sure I’m ready to go there. Maybe we’ll test it first to see if it works and to avoid any potential public embarrassment (dad would call this a “soft opening”), then bring Ameiko and Jiro over for an official unveiling.

Zosi is making some thunderstones for us. I want Nihali up on one of those rooftops tonight, ready to drop a stone or two if we stir up trouble. A little added confusion might help us out.