The earth here was cracked, blasted and corrupt. Steam vented from its bowels, like pustulent vapours escaping a bitter wound. This was the land of the Phoenix, a Great Clan no more. A vast spit of stone, illumined crimson from the boiling rock around its base, looked out over the shore. The gosts who stood atop it could see a small boat approach along the shore. A swath of dark silk covered the bright mantis colours painted upon its prow. The boat gritted along the beach, and came briefly to rest. One man leapt out, turned and cast the boat off again, waving to the sailor who remained aboard.
Alone now upon the shore, alone with a dying land, Yoritomo Daikua pulled his small quiver tight against his shoulder, and walked into the night.
He was amazed that even here, so close to the Capital, the devastation was so great. Small wonder that the Phoenix had chosen to retreat from their duties as a Great Clan, and shelter beneath the Mantis with the other minor clans. They would wait long, before the beauty of this land would return. If ever it would.
Realising that food would be scarce in this trembling waste, the scout checked his traveling pack, to ensure that he had provisions enough for the whole of this journey, quickly before the boat which brought him was out of sight.
Three days' worth. Enough. Enough to reach Otosan Uchi, and to see to what needed doing. He would be within the city when his Lord's armies arrived. There would be no surprises for the Mantis armies.
The question was, how did a creature of the shadowlands survive a
journey so far north? As Daikua bent to examine it, the mountain goblin
flailed again to life, leaping up and staggering away under the painful
wieght of a dozen arrows. Another shot, and Daikua brought the beast
down again, the blaze of light from his bow of jade lighting the morning
in a flare of glory.
Perhaps fire would slow the beast.
Slowly he was leaving the Phoenix lands, slowly leaving the corruption behind him. As he walked, he could feel the ruined land's pain behind him like a palpable thing, a wailing, bleeding mass which was once the home of a Clan. How could the Phoenix remain here, he wondered. Would there ever come a time when the pain of these swollen hills did not tear at the space behind his eyes? He could not wait to be gone from here.
Two more days, and he should reach Otosan Uchi. The last time that he had seen the Pearl of Rokugan was in the midst of battle and terror. The Day of Thunder. Even with the new emperor dead and gone, the city would be a thing of absolute beauty compared to what he saw that day.
He could only hope that it would remain so.
Enter the city, and make ready. Armies would enter, but no one would leave. Trust no one. Trust no Crane.
His Daimyo had been the first to see the true enemy of the Clan Wars, and to rally the Minor Clans against it. His Daimyo had concieved the plan which had annihilated the reinforcements of the abomination in the Palace. He would trust to his Daimyo's foresight. When the armies arrived, Daikua would be ready. For the fourth time in a dozen years, Otosan Uchi would fall.
He thought of the Isawa Provinces, and wondered whose lands would be the next to fall.