Wandering Through the Rice Fields

Where am I?

Tanbogakure's residential district grew by the day thanks in large part to the energetic efforts of Lord Kita. The Rice Country native's connections extended across the land and spanned society from peasant to petty lord, making him the perfect ambassador for the fledgling village. Each day new faces arrived bringing with them their traditions, trades, and tales of the vile Zukumiki whose power continued to build in the south. To accommodate the steady flow of newcomers, buildings sprang up in a matter of weeks creating a navigation nightmare even for Yasahiro who'd overseen the progress from his perch high in Okada Castle.

Was it a left at Taika's place or a right?

Cloaked in all black and sporting a messy beard, the Komekage looked like any other sellsword that one might find in the employ of daimyo the world over. He wore neither the trappings of power nor the vestiges of a kage, though a peculiar sword did hang tellingly from his left hip. Many people passed by him without a second glance, and more than a few forced him to yield his forward progress to an oncoming caravan bound for somewhere deeper in the village.

With the rapid growth of the village, Yasahiro made a point to stay as in touch with the people in the residential district lest he become another Zukumiki in his own right. Whether this meant hosting tea for the latest local headman to arrive or, in this case, taking his meals in the residential district, the samurai went out of his way to integrate with those he was tasked with defending. Of course, it did occur to the man that in a larger village such solo excursions may have been frowned upon by merit of the security risk they presented but, frankly, Tanbogakure lacked anyone close to him to do the frowning, let alone a security force to protect him if he wanted it.

Ah, here we are—it was a left, after all.

Mimi's Kitchen, little more than a hole in the wall smashed between two larger buildings, came recommended by one of Tanbogakure's latest shinobi recruits, Felix Sato. Somewhere between being run through drills and a live combat test by Yasahiro the young man mentioned that Mimi's had, in his opinion, the best dim sum in the growing village. How could the former exile ignore such a glowing endorsement?

Allowing another caravan of building materials and tatami mats to pass by, he darted across the narrow street and into the source of the sweet smell of steamed buns and cooked meat or, rather, he would have had a strange figure not caught his eye. Struck by the white hair, lilting form, and meandering pace, the Komekage paused at the entrance of Mimi's. Maybe three weeks ago he would have shrugged and gone on his way, but he now had a duty to the village to show some common decency, even if that only amounted to helping someone else navigate the mess of streets in the residential district.

"Excuse me," he sidled up next to the white-haired boy. "Can I help you find anything? Getting around can be a bit tricky with all the new construction."

The samurai's left hand rested on the hilt of his blade out of habit, not necessarily caution.
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TWC: 553

"Why don't you join me?" the words fell out the samurai's mouth before he could reign in his better nature "For dinner that is."

He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards the shabby building.

"Mimi's is supposed to be pretty good," he shrugged. "And decently cheap. I can show you around afterward; Inosaki's Inn is just a few streets over."

Without another word, the Komekage turned away from the white-haired boy and back towards the small restaurant. He certainly wasn't about to press him for an answer one way or the other. In fact, he thought to himself, if he were lucky the boy would continue on his way without indulging him—he preferred eating alone, after all. Allowing a young couple to exit the restaurant, Yasahiro then slipped into the dimly lit establishment.

With its less-than-ideal real estate Mimi's lacked any natural light save for that which came streaming in the door as it swung open and closed behind hurried customers. Instead of windows, the building relied on flickering lanterns to light the way to the seating area. Situated around a central open kitchen the restaurant's patrons could sit around and watch their meal take shape right before their eyes. Or, if one preferred a bit of privacy, they could take one of the booth seats that lined the diminutive room. The samurai, for his part, took a seat in the far booth with the wall at his back and the door readily in sight; he had no intention of finding an errant blade in his back.

Keeping one eye on the gently swaying door and one on the rather simplistic menu, Yasahiro waited to see if the boy cared to join him.  Around him, the business whirred about with a pair of waitresses going this way and that,  divine smells drifting off the sizzling grill, and the incoherent murmur of the few other patrons. If nothing else, Mimi's was a good place to lose oneself and leave the troubles of everyday life behind.
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TWC: 888

“Ah, apologies,” he flashed a slim smile. “Please, call me Yasahiro.”

The door on the far side of the room swung inwards bathing the establishment in a fleeting glint of natural light before plunging it back into the simulated twilight of the lantern-filled interior. A single figure slipped in carrying a sword much like the Komekage himself and took a seat at the open kitchen in the center of the room. Perhaps it was the dim ambiance, but the way the shadows fell around the figure it was impossible to discern any identifying features—something wasn’t right.

“Hi,” the voice of one of the waitresses interrupted Yasahiro’s thoughts. “What can I get for you two? Today’s special is spicy Har Gow made with shrimp right out of the bay and a side of pickled plums.”

“Oh, that sounds amazing,” the samurai pulled his gaze from the unknown figure and back to the bubbly, brown-haired waitress. “I’ll have the special and cover whatever he wants as well.”

He gestured to his newfound companion, and the waitress’s attention shifted over to the white-haired boy expectantly. At the center table, the unknown figure’s gaze flicked this way and that looking for something or, perhaps, someone.

“So,” Yasahiro continued once the boy finished his order and the waitress went on her way. “What brings you here?”

Though the former exile’s face remained a pleasant mask of the consummate host, his mind raced elsewhere. Asahi would have called him paranoid, but he found himself unable to shake the presence of the shadowy figure just a few tables away. Perhaps they were sent by his family to avenge the killing of his brother? Maybe they represented Zukumiki and his latest attempt to undermine the fledgling village? Or, possibly, Asahi would have been right—he was just being paranoid.
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TWC: 1184

"I don't know about exponentially, but it is growing," the samurai shrugged. "And I can't rightly say it's due to any single industry, though that could very well change in the future. Rather, people have been driven from their homes in the south, and they end up here—there's not much beyond this point save for Gaikotsu Bay and so they stay."

Every day more and more people streamed into the village from the south each carrying stories of Zukumiki's growing power in the south. Some told of small grievances like an increased tax burden, while others spoke of fates much worse and of lives lost, but all of them came together in Tanbogakure with a unified disdain for the growing shadow of the warlord. It was a unique position to be in for a new village, but a shared disdain could only sustain unity for so long—it was what came next that worried the Komekage of late.

"Two specials," the waitress returned food in hand. "Please be careful, the Har Gow is still quite hot."

"Thank you," Yasahiro said, giving a nod.

"Of course," the waitress gave a half bow perhaps a bit too formal for the situation. "Please let me know if you need anything else."

With that, the woman melted back into the darkened back room, and Yasahiro's attention was left to linger on the figure at the bar. For a few tense heartbeats, their two gazes met in the dim light before the one at the bar looked away in a hurry leaving the hair on the back of the samurai's neck to stand up.

"Nobutoshi," the Komekage's voice hardened as his attention returned to his new companion. "It isn't my place to pry, but would someone be following you for any reason?"

Picking at his meal, the samurai gave a half nod to the center of the room where the shadowy figure still sat. Perhaps whoever it was wasn't there for Yasahiro at all.
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TWC: 1513

"Mmm," Yasahiro hummed his agreement—starting a fight was a surefire way to be barred from a restaurant. "I'll keep an eye on them."

Keeping an eye on the shadowy figure, the Komekage continued his meal with his free hand hovering over the sword by his side. Making a break for the door would surely end poorly for all involved as it would force a confrontation. Far better to wait it out and, at the very least, defer any such confrontation to a more appropriate location. Of course, all this depended on the unwitting cooperation of the figure, something that could very well deteriorate at a moment's notice.

Across the room, the figure's meal arrived, and they fidgetted around with their wallet before pulling out a larger than expected amount of ryo. In the dim lantern light, the figure's hand emerged from the shadow handing off the ryo. Slim, slight, and meticulously manicured, the hand of the figure withdrew back into the unnatural shadows once more—an interesting twist to be sure, the figure's build appeared to be more masculine in nature, and yet their hands told a different story. Perhaps they wore armor?

Such thoughts had little time to develop further, however, as the figure stood up from their table and seemingly vanished into thin air. The unnatural shadows around where they once sat disappeared, replaced by lantern light once more. This detail fell from the fore in a flash as the shadows behind the latest arrival to Tanbogakure bent and morphed to reveal the figure from before—a wild-eyed woman sporting bulky armor and a drawn sword ringing through the air right for the back of Nobutoshi's neck.

"Nobutoshi, behind you!"

Sitting across from his newfound companion, Yasahiro lacked the speed to block the blow or even draw his blade, the attack had come too suddenly. Nobutoshi, on the other hand, had a heartbeat or two to react within if he wished to avoid his grim fate. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as the blade swung ever-onward, all the samurai could hope for was for Nobutoshi to react in time.
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TWC: 1867