The Test of the Emerald Champion

Between-Round Fiction Snippets

by The L5R Story Team

Fiction #1

            The morning sun cascaded over the plains, casting long shadows amid the hundreds of elaborate tents that had been erected near the Plains of Thunder. Despite the early morning hours, there was an undercurrent of murmuring, as most in attendance had awakened long before dawn. The sound of blades being drawn and the whisper of steel moving through the crisp air could be heard almost constantly.

Yoritomo Buntaro stood in the open entrance to the largest of the Mantis tents, staring out at one of the larger practice grounds. “Did you see that?” he asked of no one in particular. “Did you see that Crane?”

“Kakita Noritoshi,” the stoic guard standing at his shoulder said at once. “Daimyo of the Kakita family and the master sensei of the Kakita Dueling Academy. A formidable opponent indeed.”

Buntaro turned toward the sentry with a horrified expression. “I didn’t even see him draw the sword!” he exclaimed. “It was as if he suddenly just… had it! I have never seen a man move that fast!”

“It will be difficult for him be defeated in the iaijutsu tournament,” the sentry agreed. “And it seems unlikely that he will have difficulty with the preliminary contests.”

“The contests,” Buntaro said in disgust.

“Law, heraldry, history,” the guard said. “A great challenge.”

Buntaro looked down at the scroll he held in one tightly clenched hand. It bore an Imperial seal. “This is completely ridiculous,” he said suddenly. “I am not doing this.”

“It is a great honor to be selected,” the sentry said, his tone somewhat reproving. “The Mantis will lose face if we do not submit the full number of allowed contestants. It will seem as though we do appreciate the enormity of the position.”

Buntaro thought for a moment, then tossed the scroll absently to the sentry, who caught it deftly in one hand. “You do it, then,” he said flatly, leaving the tent. “I would just as soon not risk my life facing an eminently fashionable killing machine,” he added, nodding toward the practice ground where Noritoshi stood practicing his kata.

Yoritomo Isoshi looked at the scroll for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said, almost to himself.

•

Fiction #2

The morning sun had risen above the horizon, and the assembled samurai had begun to congregate at the master dais, where representatives from the Imperial families were preparing to convene the morning’s ceremonies. In the distance, keeping their distance from everyone else, two figures stood observing the spectacle. One, a giant of a man wearing a simple, featureless mempo, shook his head slowly. “An Emerald Championship without an Emperor,” he said. “I would never have believed I would see such a thing, much less twice in my lifetime.”

The second figure, a small woman, held a scroll aloft. “You could ensure that it does not happen a third time, if you wish,” she said. “Shono’s gift gives you that choice.”

The hulking warrior glanced at the scroll, but waved it away. “I think not. That is not for me.”

“You are the greatest warrior I have ever seen, Tamago,” the woman continued. “I do not doubt you could be victorious.”

“Men of power can do little to change the world, despite what they believe,” Tamago said. “I know that now, Utagawa. I have seen more than I ever imagined. I have no desire to hold such power.”

“They will not know you,” she said quietly. “You are not the same man you were. No one will recognize you.” Seeing the warrior’s surprise, she shook her head. “I know who you are. I am no fool.”

Tamago said nothing for a moment. “That is not who I am,” he said. “Not any longer.” Though his features were obscured by the mask, his eyes showed signs of a smile as he reached out and tucked one of the ever-tussled locks of her hair behind her ear. “But I am not yet ready to take the reins of power from the Great Clans. If that is your wish, little one, then you will have to take it yourself.”

Utagawa stared at the scroll. “I am not ready.”

“You are mistaken,” Tamago said flatly. “Now go, and let us see which of us is in the right.”

•

Fiction #3

The heraldry judge, a stodgy Otomo, looked vaguely annoyed as he displayed the final mon. “And this one?”

“The Yotsu chop,” the contestant answered at once. “Modified slightly. I believe that is the version used as the personal chop of Yotsu Seou, who was a provincial governor in Otosan Uchi before it was so tragically destroyed.”

The judge did not frown, but his disappointment was obvious. “A flawless performance,” he announced, handing a small colored ribbon for the contestant to attach to his armor. “I do not believe I have ever known a ronin to perform so well in such a contest, much less at the Emerald Championship. From where do you hail, Iemitsu-san?”

Daigotsu Iemitsu smiled. Despite his attire, which had been carefully chosen to make him resemble a stereotypical ronin, his smile was chilling, and the judge shuddered. “The village of Kudo, my lord,” he answered. “In the Hare lands.”

“I see,” the judge said. “Well done. You are dismissed.”

Iemitsu bowed and left the tent, his smile disappearing instantly as soon as his back was turned. He stalked outside the inner ring of tents toward the shabbier, less affluent ring that surrounded them. There was a glimmer of movement at the edge of his vision, and he half-turned, his hand barely restrained from drawing his weapon. At the sight of another ronin, one whose features were concealed completely by a massive kabuto, he cursed. “What news, Eiya?”

Daigotsu Eiya, similarly clad as a ronin, said nothing, but gestured to the ribbon on his armor. Iemitsu grunted. “Ironic that a man who never speaks could pass the law competition. I have no idea why you were sent in the first place.”

Again, Eiya said nothing, but trailed one finger across the hilt of his blade. “Yes, well,” Iemitsu admitted, “there is that.”

As the two men walked through the outer ring of tents, Iemitsu tossed a small coin to one of the merchants and took a rice ball. The two men entered a particularly ragged tent as the Spider samurai chewed absently on the rice. He turned as if to say something, but stopped short.

Eiya had removed his helmet, and his twisted, inhuman features returned Iemitsu’s stare without emotion. Iemitsu turned away quickly. “Gah,” he spat, tossing the rice ball to the ground. “I’ve told you not to do that around me.” He waited until he heard the tell-tale scraping of the helmet being replaced.

“By the end of the day,” he said with a grim smile, “we will be in position to enter the proper tournament. Remember your duties.” He pointed sharply at the other man. “Kill anyone who appears to be a threat, but the Emerald Championship is mine for the taking.” He thought for a moment. “In particular,” he added, “make certain that Kakita Noritoshi does not survive.”

•

Fiction #4

The Crab tent was not as extravagant as those held by the neighboring Crane and Mantis tents, but it was impressive all the same, if for no other reason than its sheer size. It was half again as large as most of the others, and made of a thick, sturdy cloth the color of granite. The other tents rippled in the breeze that raced across the plain, but not that of the Crab. Its most distinguishing feature, however, was the large, patched tear that dominated its front facing. It clearly had been attacked in the past by something with claws that left holes as wide as a man and twice again as tall. In typical Crab fashion, the tears had been patched with little concern for the tent’s appearance.

“Refused?” Hida Shara demanded. “What do you mean, refused?”

Kaiu Hisayuki finished emptying the small clay bottle, refreshing himself from his hurried journey to reach the plains on time. “Forgive my saying so,” he said, “but it is not a difficult statement to understand. Hiruma Todori declined the opportunity to participate. His message simply stated that he had more important matters, and offered his invitation to the Kaiu. They selected me to attend instead.”

“Unbelievable,” Shara swore. “Does he not understand what is at stake? What could be more important?”

“Rumor has it that the Hiruma have discovered a ruined dojo within a collapsed pass they are clearing. It was supposed to be hundreds of miles away, but then geography in the Shadowlands is somewhat unpredictable. Regardless, they say that the Hiruma found something within the ruined dojo, and that may be true if Todori-sama chose to attend to that matter rather than this one.”

“I will speak to Todori regarding his temerity,” Shara said stonily. “This is not a matter to be taken lightly.” Hearing an amused chuckle from across the room, she wheeled and glared at the third samurai in the tent. “You have something to add?”

“No, not at all,” Hida Daizu said. “I am certain Todori-sama is the sort of man who will take scathing criticism from a lower-ranking samurai in the best of spirits.”

Shara frowned. “I do not find you amusing.”

“I know you have other matters to which you would prefer to attend,” Daizu said, still looking over a scroll he held. “Focus your energies on winning. Imagine the resources you can bring to bear on your quest if you are victorious.”

Shara’s frown deepened. “That seems unlikely,” she muttered.

“Perhaps, but do not worry.” Daizu’s moustache twitched slightly as he grinned. “When I win, I will make you one of my officers.”