Otogibanashi (IC)

[Kirby]

A hundred candles light a room.

A summer night. The shadow of a moon hangs in the sky, the stars obscured by clouds.

They sit cross-legged in a circle, the flickering lights reflecting off their eyes, dancing off their skins, their snaking shadows cast upon the wall. They wait with suspense and bated breath.

A man enters the room. In his hands, a mirror. They smile, he laughs. They pour rounds of tea, and on cue, they begin.

“Have you heard the tale, of the demon at the gate Rashomon—”

“—of the maiden forever waiting, at the bridges of Uji—”

“—the murderous phantom with a traceless step—”

They tell their tales, and snuff out the candles. Ninety-nine. Ninety-eight. Ninety-seven. They night grows deeper, the room darker. Flickering candlelight reflects off the surface of the mirror.

“—of an ancient demonic blade that thirsted for blood—”

“—a tale of fleeting romance under the plum blossoms—”

One-by-one, the candles go out. Sixty-seven, sixty-six. They tell tales, their voices low, of love, of sorrow, of horror and of honor and vengeance and ruin. Thirty-three, thirty-two. The lights are nearly out, the night casting shadows upon their faces.

“—the goddess of the shoals, born from the sea foam—”

“—the dancer whose life was tainted with blood and tragedy—”

“—of a vengeful warrior whose hatred transformed him into a demon—”

Two. One. A single candle remained. The room was nearly cast into darkness, a lone light flickering away, dim and fading. The man, who had listened there silent and watching, speaks for the first time.

“Have you heard the story,” he began, “of the Night Parade of the One Hundred Demons?”

---

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Rashomon Gashi

An associate died today.

Kazuo Akira. He was a frequenter at Rashomon Gashi, one of the top enforcers of one of the local yakuza gangs. You knew him well enough to recognize the name, but not enough to mourn his death. Shoujou told you this, just this morning, her voice of boredom as if commenting on the weather. The other courtesans don’t seem to fare so well. They don’t speak, but you can see it in them, a familiar fear. Normally, such a thing didn’t matter to you. Associates died all the time; such was the life of the yakuza. Except this was the fourth death this month.

As far as you know, the local gangs had established an uneasy truce the month prior. That truce was still standing, if even shakier from the recent deaths. From the way these deaths had been described, they didn’t seem like gang squabbles over territory or vendettas or honor and the like. No, these deaths were strange.

They had all occurred in the past two or so weeks, all in Yoshiwara. The victims were all men, men like Akira. But the most troubling thing was their apparent cause of death, or lack of one.

No. None of the victims bore any injuries, their bodies showing no sign of poison. All of them, it seemed, had simply died out of the blue. Their bodies were found in alleyways and the like, but showed no signs of violence or struggle, and their possessions were not robbed. And so, four men died this month, for reasons unknown. Some said it was a vengeful spirit haunting Yoshiwara, others said it was a particularly clever serial killer. Regardless of what it was or is, it was bad for business.

This death particularly so, as it had occurred just outside the Rashomon.

Fujou Ran
Morning
Yoshiwara District

It’s been a while since you’ve last been to the flower town.

Come to think of it, that was wrong. You’ve been here a sparse few times in the past months, but it was nothing like the old days. You walk along the streets, the faces of the courtesans and brothel-goers here uncomfortably familiar to you, though it feels different now. You once came as one of them; now, you come as an outsider. Perhaps this was for the best.

Though they don’t seem to think so. Maybe you were still one of them. Some call out to you as you pass by, voices friendly, familiar, tempting; though you notice today they’re not quite as eager. There’s a tension in air, one unspoken, a weight upon Yoshiwara. Of course. You came here not to indulge, but to investigate. An order from above, of the Association’s intelligence network. A possible trail.

You arrive at the scene, and you shudder. Here, of all places? The Rashomon? It was a place you were intimately familiar with, whose owner you had crossed paths with once or twice before. Scary guy. Today, you suppose, will make the third.

Some samurai linger in the area, the emblem on their uniforms that of the local law enforcement, signature polearms in hand. Doushin, most likely. They recognize you, and nod to you as they step back. You look upon the scene of the crime. Here lies a man, middle-aged, body slumped against the wall. Stone-cold dead. Large build, muscular. Tattooed upper body. Kazuo Akira, that was his name. A well-known enforcer of one of the yakuza groups, that had a large presence in Yoshiwara. All this, you knew.

And yet he lays there, dead. A recent death, no sign of decomposition. No blood, no wound. The magus inside you can see it clear as day. His life had been completely drained from his body.

Yuzuha Kuze
Morning
Eta District Outskirts

There’s been a murder, you’ve heard.

You don’t know the details. All you know, you’ve heard from the village of outcasts, of the incidents of the Yoshiwara district nearby. It was recent; the news hadn’t spread yet. An atmosphere of fear hung over the village, more than before. The body was just found this morning.

Something about that rumor made your skin crawl; it happened so close by. You were just there recently— not as a courtesan, of course; you’d worked there as a dancer for the theatres and tea-houses— and you knew the people there. You had friends there. You feel a weight on your chest. The identity of the victim had not reached you yet, and you wonder who it was. Was it someone you knew? Would you lose someone close to you again?

You pushed those thoughts out of your mind, and snap back to reality. You find yourself here, by the gates of the village of eta, on the short path to Yoshiwara. You had only just returned from Kyoto, but it felt like ages since you’d last been here. You rest under a tree for shade, your gaze at the distant flower town.

You don’t know if you should go.

Today has been, overall, strange. People are afraid, and maybe it’s spreading to you. You’re seeing unfamiliar faces in these areas now; strangers in strange garb, who come and go and inquire about the murders. In the distance, on the road to Yoshiwara, you see a solitary figure, watching the villagers come and go. Something about it provokes a curiosity within you, and he glances back.

He holds this gaze for a second or two, and apparently thinks better of it. He turns around and gets on his way to the flower town, and you find yourself alone.

Kurogane Kanae
Morning
Edo Outskirts

You find yourself past the gates of the city.

You came here on a rumor. It was just snippets of information, not much to go on, but you had nothing else. It’s not like you can conjure a killer out of thin air; to find a killer, you need clues. And as far as clues go, this is all you have.

The Touzaki family was one of swordsmiths, who forged not steel, but bone. They were valued for their quality; they were said to have been magical. The blades of your family were ancestral heirlooms, and that night, along with your parents, your happy future, and your eye, those blades disappeared. All you were left with were two— the flesh and bone of the mother and father. The only thing of their left to you.

You knew all this, of course. But you found out, apparently, that one of these lost blades had been located, on its way to Edo through the Toukaidou route. Of course, it was only a rumor, heard from vagabond ronin and drunken officials, but it was all you had.

They said it was guarded by an escort, headed to the Shogunate. Apparently, a gift, or perhaps something they ordered. You don’t the details.

And so, you find yourself here, in the villages on the outskirts of the city, by the highways leading away. It’s near the edge of Edo, the forests and highways visible in the distance, the summer sun beating down on the ground. Less populated than the city, but you weren’t a fan of crowds anyway.

There are several merchant stalls here, where you could perhaps barter for supplies and equipment, or ask around for information. And yet the villagers point, and speak in hushed voices, obviously suspicious. Some look at you with interest, others close their doors. You notice a lot of eyes on that eyepatch of yours. But that was neither here nor there. Ahead, you could see the forest, and the roads of Toukaidou.

Kimura Amana
Morning
Toukaidou Highways

Your feet hurt.

You’d only started walking a short while ago, as you and your troupe had only got back on the road less than an hour ago, but that changes little. Your feet hurt, as you had been walking for days, only resting at the few inns dotting the highway here and there. Already, you miss your breakfast of soba, but you say nothing. It wouldn’t do, anyway, for a lady to complain about something as trivial as this.

The guards that walk beside you march on, their faces solemn, with no apparent sign of discomfort. You don’t know them particularly well; not all of them were from the Association. Some of them were ronin working for coin, others were warriors sent by the Shogunate to assist with the escort. One, you remember, was sent from the Asakami. There were nine of you in total, but three had gone ahead to scout; one taking the forests, two others taking the road.

A horse drawing a carriage trots along beside you, the statue neatly packaged up, sitting in the cart. The horse walks along without complaint, though of course horses didn’t talk, anyway. You sigh inwardly. It would be nice to ride a horse for a change and not have to walk the whole way, but if the others can take it, so can you. Besides, if the innkeeper lady was right, you were almost at your destination.

Something whispers to you, but you ignore it as usual.

No, this journey so far had been relatively peaceful, with no notables encounters with any beasts or bandits. You feel almost disappointed.

It’s summer, and the morning suns were hot. You didn’t want to think about how much worse it’d get in the afternoon. The road is flanked on both sides by the forests, as if carving a path straight through it.

The forests are silent.

Ahead on the road, you see two familiar figures, gashes and arrow wounds on their bodies, red seeping into the ground.

Asakami Shiori
Morning
Toukaidou Forests

You had come with them on an errand.

You find yourself in a forest, by the highways leading to Edo. The job here was two-fold, a request from the Association. First, to assist with some associates of the Nanaya— and it had surprised you to hear that they, with their seclusion and isolationism, had associates other than you— with a task. A simple delivery, it was called, though it wasn’t without its dangers.

Bandits liked to play highwayman on these roads. Youkai were said to reside in the forests of the more remote parts of the road. Furthermore, you know for a fact that some halfbloods have started to form bands of outlaws to sustain themselves. Though the journey had been uneventful so far, and there had been no demons to fight.

The second, your summons to Edo. Shinsui had been stationed there, so that the Asakami had direct communications with the Shogunate. The Asagami branch family was also situated in Edo, now a family of merchants and traders than priests, apparently now invested in the ports and shipyards. If the family was right, it was now your turn to make the journey to the capital. They had not given you the details as to why, but they said it was official business. And who were you to object?

Come to think of it, it’s been almost a year since you’ve last seen Shinsui.

And so, you accompanied the band as they made their way through the Toukaidou highway. For something such as this, you found yourself falling into the role of the scout, searching out the roads ahead for threats. You had gone and separated with the rest of the unit, and found yourself alone in the forest. It doesn’t worry you; you can find your way back easily.

So far, you’ve found nothing. You fell into a routine, where periodically you’d scout ahead, and periodically you’d head back to report. But so far, you’ve seen and heard nothing to report. Your time is up, you’ve been separated for long enough—

Except you pause in your tracks. You hear a sound

It comes from deeper within the forest. It’s faint, a steady rhythm. You can hear the galloping of horses, headed your way.

[Verg Avesta]

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Rashomon Gashi

Many things were lost in Yoshiwara. Money, clothes, pride, innocence. Sometimes it was life. But rarely was it lost in quite such a peculiar manner as this.

"Damn Suigetsu," Ryuuan Kamei muttered under his breath, blowing out a small cloud of smoke from his pipe. "What nonsense have you dug up now...?"

A death of a yakuza, customer or not, was hardly a thing to interest Kamei. Death of a customer, period, would have not interested him either. But it was when these deaths started to pile up that he had to finally take some action. Rakka-ya, and Rashomon Gashi around it, was his territory. If someone was to start killing people here, they'd have to make an arrangement with him, or be killed themselves by hands that governed the east riverbank. Unrest meant unspent coin, and if this area got a reputation as unsafe, it'd affect his income as well.

As if day-to-day living was not troublesome enough, he now had to defend his livelihood against something that killed men and left no traces of its passing.

"Conversely, that means it ain't killin' women though. Just men," Kamei continued to mutter, staring at the morning sun from the window of his office. "Many ways to drink a man's life out of him. Some more pleasurable than others. But considering where we are..."

Taking another drag from his pipe, Kamei set aside his brush and parchment. That letter could wait for later today. With a snap of his finger he summoned a young kamuro, servant-girl who hurried to put away the ink and the brush. Looked like someone new. Kamei hadn't paid attention to recent additions to their crew. Maybe he should make an inspection one of these days.

Thinking these thoughts, Kamei threw a crimson kimono over his shoulders, one adorned with a black spider-lily pattern. It matched against his black yukata perfectly, and gave him as regal atmosphere as one could get while living in Yoshiwara. It also served well to hide his weaponry. Satisfied with how he looked, he casually strolled from the office to the corridors beyond. For a man of his size, he could move surprisingly silently.

"Ikkou."

Called by his voice, a women stepped out of a room meant for resting courtesans. She took her time, however, settling on Kamei's side while wearing a pensive face. Dressed in mint-green kimono for oiran, courtesan of Yoshiwara, this woman rolled her yellow eyes. Showing reluctance, she took a large parasol, adorned with familiar spider-lily pattern, and glared at Kamei.

"Am I to be your arm-candy for this evening as well, Oyakata-sama?" the young woman named Ikkou asked.

Kamei chuckled, yet there was no amusement to be found in his voice.

"Shut up and follow. Trouble is a-brewing near Rakka-ya. Some fool thinks he can do whatever he likes near my establishment," Kamei spoke as he strolled outside of the building, a courtesan and her customer quickly getting out of his way. "A public appearance, in other words. I might not want a full procession, but certain etiquette needs to be followed."

"Ah, I see, I see," Ikkou chimed in with a sarcastic voice, opening the parasol and shielding Kamei from the morning sun's rays with it. "You need to appear more important than you are. Of course you do."

The only thing Kamei offered the young woman was a glare that could kill and a puff of smoke from his pipe.

"Just keep your mouth shut and follow me," he growled. "I need to talk to whoever fool is in charge at the crime scene."

[Mormarth]

Kimura Amana
Morning
Toukaidou Highways

I puffed out a small breath of air and tried not to let my consternation show on my face, I was above this, above the minor aches and pains of the road. I would not shy away from hardship and mire myself in an indulgent ride to spare me some finite discomfort.

Yes, I was calm and serene, smooth as still waters.

And then a particularly sharp rock prodded up through the bottom of my footwear and I almost winced.

Curse my pride, but I kept my trials to myself, I had endured more than this.

But that hardship was not quite so boring. A voice whispered in the back of my mind, and I took a long, slow breath and shoved it away, which it grumpily went along with, complaining all the way.

It was fortunate, I told myself, that we had not been set upon by bandits or beasts that dotted the road. It saved time and money that we may have to spend healing injuries, time that we need to make haste for Edo.

It was well-fortuned indeed, as I drummed my fingers along the paired blades at my waist.

It was still the morning, and the Sun above had already begun spreading a thick haze of heat and while I had not quite begun sweating, I found myself already pining, as I had so many times before, for the cooler climate of my home.

I shook my head, marshaling my idle thoughts together as one, focusing on what was around me rather than what lay solely within the self.

Five men marched around me, a trio had gone up ahead, I did not know many of them.

Some were honourless ronin, out purely for coin, some others came from the Shogun's court, evidently to protect his interests, only a few were from the Association, and I knew one was an Asakami.

I could feel the taint of their 'guardian deities' upon her from a good distance away.

I sucked my teeth and shut my eyes for a moment, No, it wouldn't do to snub an ally simply because they, ah, associated so strongly with the enemy.

It would be slightly hypocritical.

I stilled my mind and listened to the sounds of the forest, mentally composing a haiku to order my thoughts.

Trees lacking thunder
My poor feet hurt immensely
I hope something comes

...

I cursed my own self-sabotage, but it seems my haiku had reached one of the fortunes' ears, for, to my mix of sorrow, anger and glee, a pair of the guards lay upon the road ahead, their bodies peppered with arrows.

"Close in around the statue," I commanded quietly, "Eyes to the forest, weapons ready, we are not alone."

I continued walking along towards the pair lying in the road, I made furtive glances out of the corner of my eyes to try and spot any would be ambushers, my hand not precisely upon my blade, but near to it.

Where is the third.

The Asakami had gone ahead with them, and she was not present, dead? Alive?

My blood danced, my fingers drummed a battle-beat along my side.

[Ayakashi]

--- Kuze Yuzuha Eta Districts Outskirts Morning HP: 170 MP: 500

A heavy sigh escaped her lips, yet the seasonal breeze would not bear to see the young maiden's distress linger: a gentle wind blew, swaying the tree and her silky jet-black hair, whisking away her worries and ushering in fresh air. With the dreary atmosphere gone, she could breathe in deeply anew, mustering the determination she sorely lacked to break through her hesitance, and finally rise to her feet.

Ultimately, there was no point in delaying the moment of truth, and even if it was someone whom she did not know that had lost their lives, the young girl knew that stranger or not, the loss of a life was a terrible thing, for a loss was a loss -- that person would never come back. All that would be left in their stead, would be the mourning of those that cherished them. A tragic thought most tragic.

"Please be safe..." she whispered as she began walking towards the village gate, thinking of everyone that she knew. A prayer to the August One that Shines in Heaven, a hope that the Goddess would have gracefully beseeched her mercy and protection upon the lives of the men and women that struggled to survive, neck-deep in impurity.

She walked, she moved forward, trying to be as inconspicuous as a woman with charm and beauty could be. She was not born in the streets, nor was she raised as a 'normal' individual -- she eventually came to learn the ways of the poor and unwanted, but still, her demeanour was not the one of a courtesan or an average hinin. As the morning light showered her form, one could have sworn that the grace she exuded so naturally could only be the result of divine providence.

Amidst the unfamiliar faces, amidst the unending questions, what would she find?

Like the mysterious figure with whom she exchanged gazes, Kuze Yuzuha followed suite to find the answer, makig her way into the flower town.

Oh heat of summer
Oh wail of the Cicadas
Death waits not winter

[Reiu]

Asakami Shiori
Morning
Toukaidou Forests

The kudzu flower
Trodden on, brightly colored
Here in these forested wilds
Another has left his mark

As she stepped through the forest, Shiori recalled a nostalgic poem, a tanka read in a voice dearer to her than any other.

Except there were no signs of another having passed through these forests. And she would certainly not be the one leave any mark behind.

The thought makes her morose.

She paused. She heard something, coming from deeper within the forest. Its unexpectedness alone was enough to freeze her pulse, briefly. You're too skittish, Shinsui had once gently chided her. She calmed herself. If the fear grew too much for her, she could simply remove it. She knew how.

The sound of horses galloping. Horses---she recalled the carriage of the Nanaya associate and the remaining escort.

The thought of the girl she was supposed to be escorting made her a little nervous. She knew of the Nanaya hatred for the taint of the youkai, and she also knew, all too well, that her own blood carried such within it. Was it not likely that a close associate of the Nanaya would share their attitude?

What's more, the girl was nobility. Shiori had hardly any experience with nobility; Shinsui had been the one versed in their customs and the one charged with the task of accommodating them. She knew her etiquette and keigo well enough, but could not help but wonder if she had made mistakes she was unaware of.

In any case, she had her task of reporting to do. But first she had to determine who it could be rushing this way. Shiori decided to hide in wait, keeping her senses alert for any other possible threat.

[You]

Fujou Ran
Morning
Yoshiwara District

In and out.

That is what Rantold himself when his supervisor came into the office today looking for someone to write a report on the murder in Yoshiwara District. It had been a complete coincidence that Ran was chosen for the task. Well, it was more like he was the only one in the office at that time.

Leaving my offices one day, I lament spring’s passing;
at waterside, beside blossoms, all alone I stand.
Time and again I gaze out toward the northeast-
and my colleagues, they point at me and say
I’m crazy.

“Of course, if you’re going to be acting like paperwork does itself,” Ran bitterly mumbled to himself.

There were many proposals he still needed to needed to read and approve, many reports and tips to process and make sure they went where they were supposed to.

In and out, because paperwork doesn’t do itself.

But the closer and closer he got to his destination, the heavier and heavier his head became. The smell of sex and narcotics that stagnated in the air allowed itself to fill his lungs. Every once in a while, someone would say a friendly word or two and Ran would nod or wave, trying to hurry his way through. As unpleasant as the smell made him, he was acutely aware that someone had died. These people might be doing their best to come to terms that their district wasn’t safe any longer, but still each one knew they or their loved ones could be next.

In and out, because he didn’t want to be overwhelmed.

Like that he came to the body of the man described in the report who was drained of life.

The local samurai stood back. In the course of his job, Ran has dealt with them with them before. They know that all he does is collect data and leave.

In and out, because otherwise the samurai would get suspicious.

But someone or something has been targeting the men in this district. All the information that’s necessary is contained in that statement. The final piece of the puzzle for his report is how exactly life was drained from this enforcer.
Focusing magical energy into his senses, Ran looks for the “entry” and “exit” wound or any vestiges of life force that lingered on his body rather than inside it.

In and out.

[Katie]

Kurogane Kanae
Morning
Edo Outskirts

Hands reflexively touch the fabric that covers her missing eye, a slight flush of embarrassment at her cheeks. She already knows she’s the opposite of classical beauty—taller than most men, constantly scowling, her face marred by the incident so many years ago. Everywhere she goes they look at her like she is an animal about to pounce, clad in metal scales and armed with sharp blades. It always happens, yet every time she can’t help but feel ashamed about how she is who she is.

The words of her aunt echo in her mind (“Stand taller than the pricks who tax us,” that was the phrase) and she obeys, straightening out her slump into a much more alert position. Out of the corner of her eye she sees that a stray child takes a few steps back in response, before running off when they realize where her gaze is. Her lips purse automatically, and with heavy steps she makes her way to the inn, an ever constant local rumor mill.

It’s not that she doesn’t want to look around town, but she is on a timer and the shopkeepers give her the impression that they’d close up shop as soon as she approached. This left the inn, and where there was an inn there were drinks, and where there were drinks there were drunkards.

And drunkards—she shuddered, remembering what the last town had given her—talked way too damn much.

[Kirby]

Fujou Ran
Morning
Outside the Rashomon

You look at the man, a steady flow of magical energy circulating throughout your eyes. Your vision changes before you, the browns and grays of the ground and buildings, draining away into black and white and red. Color disappears from the world, a monochrome image, save for the auras of red, the breath of life. You blink. You look at your hand, and it looks as if suffused smoke. The samurai by you look the same; all is normal, the spell had executed properly. And so you turn your eyes to the body.

As expected, not a single hue of red remains in his body, dead as the wall against which he slumped on, or the ground on which he sat. Obviously abnormal for such fresh a corpse.

First, to use an analogy, humans and their life energy were like flames. Even when extinguished, they’d leave behind embers before cooling to cold ash, at least for a little. If he had been, say, stabbed or poisoned, you’d be able to see residual life energy on his body, slowly dissipating like the heat of a snuffed out flame. But not even that remained for this man. Obviously, a supernatural cause of death, probably literally as the report had said: drained of his life.

The exit wound. The rate and site of life energy dissipation could give away the cause of death. For example, a man stabbed or bludgeoned would have the life energy dissipate from the site of the wound. A man poisoned may have it dissipate from the visceral organs. A man strangled to death may have it from the mouth or lungs. Even if the complete absence of life in this man would mean one couldn’t observe the dissipation itself, one could determine where the dissipation had occurred, like identifying the leak in a boat, even if it had already.

For this man, you identify two “exit wounds”: one at the mouth, which was generally unhelpful; many types of death resulted in a site in the mouth. The other, more interestingly, was across his upper body, across his arms and chest, yet only across his front. A strange observation. There were no physical injuries at those sites, so why would there be exit wounds there?

You snap out of your reverie as you hear footsteps behind you. Two figures emerge from the building, a towering man and a faintly familiar courtesan. You see with your vision their life energy flaring like a furnace, burning brighter than any of the else commoners on this street. You dispel the enchantment to get a better look.

Before you is a face you’d hoped you’d never have to see again, the owner of the Rashomon.

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Outside the Rashomon

You exit the building to see a faintly familiar face.

By the alleys stand several samurai, whom you recognize as part of the law enforcement, as well as a man dressed like a government official. ‘Dressed like’, because of what you knew of him, he sure didn’t act like one. Fujou Ran, or something? You knew that episode of his life well enough, as he was a frequent customer at the Rashomon at some time— death of his wife, some had said, though you never cared enough to confirm it— a man who threw himself into the Floating World out of despair. At some point, perhaps a month or two back, he seemed to have disappeared. And now he’s here again.

Whoever he was, he seemed to have gotten his life back together. Rather than the strange, dreamy man you occasionally passed by at Yoshiwara, he looks solemn, a man all business, at least for today. Though come to think of it, he does seem a bit on edge, avoiding eye contact with the courtesans and the like especially. Kuikko suppresses a laugh at his expression.

The death happened in the alley. You can’t quite see the details from here, though from what you’ve heard, there doesn’t seem to be anything to see. You stride forward, making your way to the samurai and official.

And almost instinctively, the samurai step back, silent, leaving nothing between you and Ran.

[Verg Avesta]

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Rashomon Gashi

"Mm, I knew Fujou-dono would not be able to keep away for too long. The taste of our city rarely leaves one's tongue," Ikkou chuckled under her breath as the two arrived at the crime scene. "Steady now, Oyakata-sama. It looks that our loyal customer is here to handle procedures. You might not have to furrow your brow more than you usually do."

Instead of answering, Kamei threw another glare at Ikkou. It was not exactly killing intent, but what he directed at the woman was something similar, as it made her flinch instinctively and take a step backwards. Seeing he did not need to say more, Kamei focused his attention forward, towards Fujou Ran and the body behind him. That was why he missed the expression Ikkou wore after she had recovered.

If looks could kill, Kamei would have joined the yakuza-member then and there.

"Many trespassers at my lawn today," Kamei spoke, his deep voice rumbling. "Not here to sample goods, from the looks of it. Not even you, no matter how they call. Perhaps escaping through your work, perhaps not. No matter. There are businesses of many sorts, and today's is the unprofitable kind. Flowers will have to bloom without us."

Kamei gave a momentary glance towards the latticed display window of Rakka-ya, where courtesans under his employ lounged, chatted and spoke sweet and soft to the men passing by. Some even fluttered their eyelashes at the samurai gathered at the crime scene, before giggling at their friends for their so-called daring. Chatter of sparrows, Kamei usually called it. Meaningless and flighty, in and out of ears in a blink of an eye.

But that did not mean sparrows never saw anything useful.

He would have to talk to the ones on display last night. Later.

"The source of death I am most familiar with is a veneral disease or a miscarriage. That or a suicide. But the bodies from those we leave at Joukan-ji temple. Tell me... Official," Kamei seemed to taste the title, and found it amusing. "Why is there a dead man at my doorstep? This is a problem not just for the law, but of Yoshiwara as a whole."

He took a deep drag from his pipe, blowing out a cloud of smoke that hung heavily in the air.

With that smoke between his teeth, he cracked a hint of a threatening grin.

"But most especially, for Rashomon Gashi."

[You]

Fujou Ran
Morning
Rashoumon Gashi

If that man was here, there was no way out. So much for in and out.

Turning to face the newcomers, Ran politely bowed to them and acknowledged them with an “Owner” and “Madam.”

Ran had supposedly met the owner two times before; he does not remember those times. Maybe a fragment or a cloud here and there. Either way, the owner was the owner, it would do little good for Ran to disrespect the man, especially in his own establishment.

However, the owner calling him “Official” was especially grating considering that was something he discarded a lifetime ago. Wage slave or salaryman would be better but those terms wouldn’t be invented until much, much later.
As for the question that the owner asked him…

Ascertain the information, write up a report, submit the report. That was protocol. There was no need not to answer any questions even if he found the smoke from the pipe unpleasant. At the same time, there was no need to worry the public.

Making sure only the owner could hear, “Is it that strange that Ibaraki Douji has returned to Rashomon?”

[Verg Avesta]

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Rashomon Gashi

“Is it that strange that Ibaraki Douji has returned to Rashomon?”

The low chuckle of Ryuuan Kamei was like two boulders grinding against each other. He took another drag of his pipe before focusing his gaze momentarily on the dead man. His eyes wandered across his tattooed body, searching for anything obvious that would tell the reason for death. But much like the diseases that claimed lives of courtesans and customers alike, there was nary to be found. So his eyes once again, turned towards the man before him.

"Ibaraki Douji?" Kamei muttered, stroking his chin. "The demon at the gates, attacking those who dare to trespass. Exacting revenge to those who have wronged him. Worthy causes."

Playing with the pipe in his hands, Kamei stared at the bright morning sun through the shade of the parasol held up by Ikkou.

"The thing is, his is a territory in Kyoto. We are far from there. This is Yoshiwara, nothing more, nothing less," Kamei growled. "At this gate, we have a different demon. One whose motivation is to make those pay who hurt his business. Attacking those who trample his flower field. As the owner of Rakka-ya, I do not care if it is a man, beast or a demon that stalks our streets..."

Kamei's hand reached to squeeze a handle of something tucked beneath his over-kimono.

"... When upon my territory, they are my prey."

[Kirby]

Kimura Amana
Morning
Toukaidou Highways

They sense the danger, and take formation.

Four guards form up around the statue, blades unsheathed, while the last readies a bow. The archer watches you to cover you, as you make your way to the bodies to check.

One is dead. He has two gashes across his body, seemingly from a blade, across his chest and neck. The other is alive, but dying, bleeding out. He has an arrow in his abdomen, and a wound on his thigh. Their bodies are bloody. Your blade whispers to you; you ignore it.

He can be saved. The guard with a bow was also a priest and practitioner of medicine, but he was too far away to help. You almost get up to call to him, but immediately dive to your right.

Some whistles past your ear, cutting a gash into your cheek. It sticks into the ground beside you. An arrow.

Amana takes 10 damage.

Several more arrows shoot from the trees, aimed for the cart. The guards deflect them with their blades, though some have been grazed, pain visible on their faces. You couldn’t catch where the arrows had been coming from, though logically they should be coming from the forest. You raise yourself up, and ready your blade. You can feel its bloodlust.

And so you are left in wait, pursued by some unknown assailant.

[Kirby]

Asakami Shiori
Morning
Toukaidou Forests

You hide yourself in the bushes.

You hear the galloping getting louder, closer, as you hold your breath in wait. How long does it feel like? Seconds, minutes, hours? The sounds grows louder and louder, until it’s like thunder against your eardrums. You peek from your hiding spot, and see them.

Horses and riders gallop by, just before your eyes. You count four in total, the men riding them grave and gruff, with battered weapons and well-worn armor. They ride right past, to the direction you had come from, riding as if chasing a prey. The main road. You notice others following on foot, archers and swordsmen. And then they pass, not sparing you a second glance, from your hiding place. It seems they hadn’t noticed you.

After you’re sure they’re gone, you leave your hiding place. From the looks of them, they were probably bandits, as they didn’t look too organized. You’re sure they were heading to your escort, and they outnumber them. Going for an ambush, you’re sure.

But now, you’re behind them, and they’re unaware of your presence. The single advantage you hold over them. You can still see them in the distance, and it may be possible for you to catch up with them. Given the paths the horses have to take through the forests, they aren't too far ahead, and you're essentially overlooking them from an incline.

The question, then, is what are you to do?

[You]

Fujou Ran
Morning
Rashoumon Gashi

"... When upon my territory, they are my prey."

That made Ran smile. How he had missed having a friendly conversation with someone! Everyone in the office was always too busy trying not to do their paperwork to engage him. In fact, the owner’s overly melodramatic bearing started to rid the haze that had been clouding Ran’s mind ever since he entered the district.

“Off the record owner, off the record of course, because this is only an opinion,” Ran paused for a moment.

“I’m sure that you can agree with me that if only men have been attacked, then the attacker seems to be female or someone who has a grudge against men. But owner, your dear enforcer here is more than enough to defend against a normal woman as long as he wasn’t ambushed or assassinated.”

Ran emphasized the “normal.”

“But owner, you shouldn’t dismiss Ibaraki Douji so easily, or rather you shouldn’t dismiss the ‘Ibaraki Douji’ that has taken over your establishment. From your words, it seems it was your intention to name this fine establishment after the gate in Kyoto. However, dear owner, it fits too well – you see, it fits too well.

“After all, I’m sure you know that Rashoumon is just a fabrication, the original name for the gate is “city wall gate,” yet it was popularized as ‘Silk Life Gate,’ from a play. This establishment may not be an actual gate, but if a gate is a doorway to another world… Indeed, calling this establishment

Rashoumon

Silk Life Gate

is too fitting – even poor I can attest to that.”

Ran nodded towards the owner before continuing.

“Not only that, adding the Gashi is quite the pun you’ve constructed. I was never sure what the name of your establishment meant; however, I always found it clever that it could be read as ‘to lie down.’ Words that describe such an establishment as this as well as having laid this place to Rashoumon, itself. But at the end of the day, a name is just a name no? True, names have power but names aren’t material constructs that kill enforcers. They’re just words, after all.

“To become Rashoumon, one would need to turn this establishment into a place of depravity. After all, Rashoumon is supposed to be a symbol of moral decay. What once was a proud gate guarding the capital, reduced to a den of thieves and unwanted children, and finally broken down from public negligence. I mean no offence owner, but as a former customer who has sunk to the deepest depravity here, I can say it certainly fits the bill.

“You have accidently recreated Rashoumon in this establishment and every Rashoumon needs an ‘Ibaraki Douji.’ But that’s putting the cart before the horse. Because of these factors the air here is thick with a ‘curse.’ It’s not something anyone would notice since it’s a dormant curse that just sits here collecting grudges and vestiges of emotion. In fact, I would say it’s something that’s good for your business; this curse collects the negative emotions, cleaning the atmosphere, allowing your ‘flowers,’ to grow.”

A “demon” isn’t something that is necessarily bad. Something people place their negative emotions within, demons are not real but not fake either. They are sometimes the same, sometimes different from the “demons” that the organization Ran belongs to hunts.

“But at the end of the day, it’s still a collection of grudges and most of the grudges that come out of an establishment like this are the broken promises wayward men held to your flowers. At the same time, if you’ll recall Ibaraki Douji in Rashoumon, it is because of that legend that some believe Ibaraki Douji was a women or an oni with the ability to shapeshift into a woman. Then, there is no doubt the ‘Ibaraki Douji’ that was born in this place would attack the men who hurt your flowers. Like I said, this fits too well that I would dismiss as the plot of a fairy tale.

“A cluster of negative emotion has taken form and is now terrorizing the district, killing men who have broken their promises to your flowers. But in truth that isn’t your prey… no, what you would call your prey just happen to be your flower field that produced the monster in the first place.

“Your prey and what you seek to protect are the very same thing.

“What your prey seeks to protect and what you are protecting are the exact same thing.”

Now that the mystery has been lain bare. All that is left to do is put forth a solution.

“Though, rest assured owner. A curse is nothing more than a tension. Much like a forest fire in the mountains, even if you have the driest leaves, the hottest day, and the most flammable tinder, there still needs to be a spark. So right now, the best thing to do is find out that spark, to find the reason the monster materialized. Because without correcting that, it will just keep on burning until the entire district is aflame.

“Of course, I’m not an expert on such esoteric matters."

Ran respectfully bowed again.

[Kirby]

Kuze Yuzuha
Yoshiwara Entrance
Morning

You follow the man from a short distance away. Though it’s more like you both are headed to the same destination.

The short walk over is rather uneventful, though you swear you notice him looking over his shoulder— at you— here and there. Each time, you break your gaze. You weren’t staring at him, of course.

In time, the two of you reach the entrance of Yoshiwara, the flower town. Still bustling, but not quite as much as usual. The recent murder hangs over the district like a haze of fog. The man comes across a samurai, and they stop to converse. You’re close enough now to see him properly. He doesn’t seem old; he can’t be much older than you. Though another voice catches your attention.

A friend, Ayane, calls to you.

She’s a worker at one of the local teahouses in the area, an offshoot of one of the bigger kabuki theatres. She looks both worried and relieved; worried about the most recent turn of events, sure, but also relieved at your safety. She beckons you over, and the two of you talk for a spell.

As she lives in the area, she knows more of the details, though not much more. Apparently, the murder victim was an enforcer of a yakuza— Kazuo Akira. You don’t know the name well. And so you perhaps feel a sense of relief it was no one you knew— but even then, a death was a death. He died near the Rashomon Gashi. You suppress a shudder. Something about that place makes you afraid, like the entrance to the den of a beast. You don’t know why. Perhaps it’s the owner. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere. Perhaps it’s the aura of blood that lingers on its premises.

As for the cause, no one had the slightest clue. From this, rumors were abound. That he was assassinated by a rival with a special poison, or was killed by the curse of a vengeful spirit, or that he had crossed paths with a demon or whatever. A real mess of rumors.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the boy finish his conversation, as they wave each other goodbye. He heads off north, towards the Rashomon Gashi. The samurai, on the other hand, retains his post, evidently waiting on something else. And so you and Ayane fall silent, as you contemplate what to do.

[Kirby]

Kurogane Kanae
Morning
An Inn at the Edo Outskirts

It’s a nice inn, to be honest.

It reminds you of those you find on the highways, like the one this escort was apparently taking. Several tables sit in the open air, and you take a seat. A nervous waitress comes to wait on you. Today, on the menu: dango, yakitori, other things grilled on sticks in general. And some wine, of course. It probably wouldn’t do to order too much and get drunk, but perhaps a little wouldn’t hurt.

You look around. There are a few people here, that you could perhaps talk to. Being at the outskirts, this place would probably get a lot of travelers, both incoming and outgoing. Several villagers drink at one table, and a small group of ronin at another, looking surly. Some yakuza members— at least, you think they are judging by the tattoos— make merry in the corner and harass the waitress, and you see a few strays here and there. A government official looking down on his luck. A foreigner— and what the hell was a foreigner doing here, anyway?— with a strange smile and stranger accent. A young man who looks slightly lost.

You listen for a bit. You pick up some conversation here and there, maybe something that would be of use. Someone had lost their job. Another had been kicked out of some group, and others sympathize. Some are celebrating some big find, or whatever.

You wonder, now, who here could know of what you seek?

[Reiu]

Asakami Shiori
Morning
Toukaidou Forests

What was she to do? Here was an opportunity for her to fulfill her calling at last. The question was, what would be the most advantageous action to take?

"Do we really have the time to be doing this?" a sardonic voice observed. She started; his earlier silence had caused her to forget his presence. Her naginata, Hakuei Nagamitsu. A relic forged by a smith of the Bizen tradition and with pride to match his pedigree. Her long-time "partner," though she knew Shinsui would disapprove of her thinking this way of a mere weapon.

"It's time to hunt. You know you've been waiting."

She shook her head at his accusation of bloodthirst, but he was right. This was no time to stand around contemplating.

Red eyes aglow with an eerie light, Shiori concentrated on her own body for a few moments. Then she jumped upward, finding foothold on thin branches that seemed impervious to her weight.

"---Yes, you may be able to keep up your good behavior in front of others, but you can't hide your true nature from me. We're partners, after all."

He seemed quite pleased with the turn of events.

"'How very restless:
Eyes red like the blood they seek,
The ghost's only wish.'

...You know, sometimes, my own artistic prowess stuns me. Do you like it, Shiori? What do you think of it?"

She ignored him (and the fact that his poem sounded suspiciously similar to another's), focusing on the task at hand as she gave chase to the bandits, as swiftly as she can without making so much noise as to arouse suspicion from them.

Then again, they likely had better places to focus their attention on than what was more likely a bird or some other animal overhead.

Hakuei, for once, seemed content enough, even being ignored. She could sense that he was excited, though she could not quite say the same for herself.

But she was going to do what needed to be done, all the same.

[Katie]

Kurogane Kanae
Morning
An Inn at the Edo Outskirts

The foreigner.

He sticks out like a rusted blade amidst the delicately cleaned, an aberration that should simply not be here. Foreigners were limited to that island far west, weren’t they, over in Nagasaki or wherever it was? Nevertheless, it didn’t matter. While it was the first time she had ever seen someone so distinctly… out of place in her life, it was not anything relevant to her cause. She had great doubt that a foreigner would know anything about the trade of Japanese goods to the daimyo.

That struck her as incredibly preposterous. What was born in Japan stayed in Japan, after all. Or so she had heard from those merchants that bothered to cross the nation. No need for a foreigner to have access to such knowledge.

With a sigh, she can’t help but feel pity for the poor waitress, a woman trying to do her job. It was hardly her place to meddle in such affairs, being a blacksmiths daughter, lower than any samurai she could think of, but she felt that uncomfortable twinge of pity. She knew that feeling of helplessness quite well, and, as much as it pained her to admit, she felt horrid when others were reduced to that pitiable state.

So, she cocked her head and glared at the gang members (she had only some run ins with them in the past), making her way to the table where the poor waitress was being heckled and harassed.

“Don’t you all have things better than to make someone feel uncomfortable?”

Thinking about it, this was about the 34th time she was going to get kicked from a bar or an inn.

[Mormarth]

Kimura Amana
Morning
Toukaidou Highways

HP: 220/230
MP: 240/240

I hissed in surprised pain as an arrow lashed past my cheek, damn my foolhardy confidence, of course a predator would sight out prey ahead of the pack.

And, of course, as predators, they would naturally lean toward the point of least resistance, an exposed flank on startled game.

It's what I would do, after all.

Azure eyes gleam bright
Across the honed katana
Green leaves in the breeze

Bah, focusing on such paltry words is a waste of your talent. Let us find our game and begin the hunt.

An aged voice cuts sharply through my reverie, the carmine sword shimmered in the morning sunlight, it lacked a certain artistry, nicks and chips in the blade, but the aged weapon carried his scars with pride.

I ready him wordlessly, holding the blade ready in a defensive posture, while my school had no solid focus on defensive techniques, it was more of a matter-of-fact that the best way to not be injured was to simply not be in the path of an oncoming blow.

My eyes lingered over the carriage, drawing themselves more than I consciously drove them to a point of weakness, frailty.

It was not their fault, they were outnumbered, outflanked and afraid, it would be only logical for such a point to open, and it would be their that the brigands concentrated their assault.

I followed a line from the point outward, pulse climbing.

Soon, this insult will be avenged, and I will sate my own desires.

[Verg Avesta]

Ryuuan Kamei
Morning
Rashomon Gashi

"A fine theory," Kamei admitted, stroking his chin as he listened to Ran's words. "But with one mistake to mar it. For you see... it was not I who named Rashomon Gashi. Indeed, it was no one that named Rashomon Gashi. Rashomon Gashi is this neighborhood, the eastern riverbank of Yoshiwara and the gate that leads out of town. Perhaps out of irony, perhaps out of fear, people eventually took to calling this part of town with that name."

Another drag, another cloud of smoke. Kamei tapped his pipe slightly, making some of the ash fall to the ground.

"As for what comes to my establishment, it is named Rakka-ya," he added, while Ikkou behind tried her best not to snicker.

"But the monster itself... if it comes from my flower field, even if it aims to protect and exact revenge on the drunken, unkept promises of men, then it has clearly forgotten something very important," Kamei spoke, a distasteful expression rising to his face. "It has risen from my flowerbed. All the things there, flowers or monsters, are mine to trample or pluck as I see fit. And if something steps out of line there, it is my duty to remind it just who owns it. A misbehaving demon or a misbehaving child, both are equally bad for business."

Kamei grinned, though there was no amusement to be found in that expression.

"Both need a beating to understand how this world works."

Having said that, Kamei turned to look at the courtesan at his side. The green-clad Ikkou was little taken aback from the sudden attention. Indeed, it seemed like it was in her instinct to prepare for the worst whenever Kamei looked at her. Physical violence or demeaning words... what the cause might be was unclear, but something was not right with these two.

"Ikkou. Who did we have in the latticed display windows last night?" Kamei asked. "And more specifically, has anyone of them acted odd today?"