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Population: 7 billion (non-rokuganjin)
Ronin looked out across Otosan Uchi. Amendment: what was left of Otosan
Uchi. The capital city had become a refuge for all those still living
in Rokugan, those forgotten under the rubble by the rest of the empire
too busy getting in their own new homes.
Not just heimin and eta had been forgotten. Nobles had been lost
beneath their kyuden. The empire didn't want to acknowledge the fact
that some had been forgotten, that there was the possibility of livingheirs.
The possibility of living imperial heirs.
Oh, the scouts had scoured the city. The Imperial Palace, the gardens,
the Council of Daimyo. But scouts had a way of … missing things.
Especially when Akodo money found its way into their pockets. After
all, a child was an easy thing to miss.
Ronin had memories of the past; he had been about four during the
impact, and had a remarkable memory. He remembered the gilded crib he
slept in nightly. He remembered watching television with his five
attendants. He remembered his mother…
Oh his mother. Her sweet, Doji features still stood out in his mind.
But he couldn't conjure up an image of her in life. He remembered her
voice, her smell, even the feel of her skin. The only image of her face
that came to him, though, was of the cold, lifeless thing buried under
a support. All of her life had gone then, but she still carried the
sweet beauty of life. He had cried for days after finding her, alone in
a ruined corner of the palace.
He was found nearly a three days later, feverish and dehydrated, by a
simple farmer's wife that had come to the palace to seek out the
emperor. She told him that his father was dead… but he never really
showed interest. His mother… his mother was all that mattered.
A childhood spend learning the ways of the Tao as interpreted by a poor
peasant woman and whatever passing samurai she could convince of the
boy's lineage. And then on his thirteenth birthday, he had set out
across Rokugan. He still remembered his travels, his meetings with the
monks who still lived in the mountains, with the occasional errant
samurai. And in that time, he realized that he had no family anymore.
He was truly on his own. And so, he took to calling himself Ronin, to
remind himself that he was always without master. For though he was the
son of heaven, none would ever believe him, and he would never allow
himself to be beholden to another.
His travels had brought him back to the city… where he tried to make
some order. He had now almost succeeded. Most of Otosan Uchi was
controlled by his own misfit police force, and people no longer lived
in constant fear for their lives.
But it was still hollow. He knew that he could not stay in his decaying
palace forever. He would have to get out; he had never been out of
Rokugan before, let alone off planet, but perhaps his destiny was inthe stars.
Tomorrow he would assemble his most trusted guards. He would leave some
of them here to manage the city, and the rest he would take with him in
hopes of finding a way to the nearest world. Probably a train to Hida.
The nezumi would be his best bet.
Ronin looked out over Otosan Uchi. Perhaps one day it would be greatagain.
Chivitz tumbled out of his nest in the crippled condominium. His
brothers and sisters were all still sleeping, but he was sure he had
heard something else. Seen something move out of the corner of his eye.
Which was, of course, impossible; Shinomen Condoplex was fully the
domain of his clan. There were guards posted all along the perimeter
wall, and every other nezumi would be sleeping now.
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