[Shindera Mori]

Tea Country, 1020 The Tea Country was supposed to be the world's capital in tea production, hence its name. Despite that, the beverage that had been placed before Mori was absolutely abysmal. It was supposed to be a green tea, yet it was bitter and sour upon his tongue. He fought a grimace as he drank another sip, both from the flavour of the tea and the inane conversation from the man before him. He was supposedly some local rebel leader, but all Mori could gather was that he was an trumped-up bandit with delusions of grandeur.  For half-an-hour, he had gone on and on about his loathing of the daimyo, but he seemed to have no basis for his beliefs other than a childish hatred of taxation. There was no substance to his beliefs, and the man was so utterly weak that he had decided that his methodology of rebellion was robbing the odd merchant or tax-collector that travelled the roads. Mori was no prude, he was not above such actions, but he did not pretend that they were anything but small actions to benefit himself as an individual. He'd come to the small little teahouse, sitting on a junction of two major roads, in hopes of some kind of enlightening discussion with the local rebels. Rumour had been that there was also work to be had for travelling and exiled nin, looking to wet their blades on the blood of rebels or retainers. So far, all he had found was boredom. Mori held a hand up, silencing the words from the still yammering rebel. "Allow me to stop you there, friend. Your entire world view is built around the wrongs that have been done to you, I find your philosophy utterly shallow and unapproachable. If you'd been born a tax collector, I don't doubt for a second that you'd happily fight for the other side... Have you even read Sunset of Empires?" The angered response that followed was entirely expected, and Mori found himself sighing as he reached for his weapons stashed underneath the table. Another dead end.

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika stared down at the charred, burning remains of Tomari with a look of disinterested boredom, her amber-gold gaze lingering on the last figure that writhed within the smoldering ashes. She rarely stayed in one village for long, preferring to keep moving lest Yukigakure’s hounds catch up with her (not that she feared them, of course, but it was so much easier not having to deal with them), but the once proud village she was looking down upon had been a rare exception to that. The food had been excellent, the peasants eager to serve once she had asserted her authority, and everything had been running smoothly… until she had caught one of the children pilfering a loaf of bread from her stores. She had dispensed with proper justice, taking the child’s arm in retribution for its horrid crime, and in return her subjects had revolted.

It was the last mistake any of them would ever make.

She had been swift with her reprisal, smothering the town in white fire, their screams filling the air for hours as they died one by one, begging for mercy, but now the fun was over. The last of her victims was dead, slumped amidst the ashes, his body overcome by the horrific burns he had received, and all that was left was the simmering ashes of her rage and a quiet, tired melancholy that lingered on the edges of her thoughts. The raven-haired woman had been on the run for two years now, slowly sowing the seeds of rebellion back home, forging connections and killing the unworthy wherever she went, but for all her efforts, little had been accomplished towards her overall goal. Emiri still ruled the Nakajima, the ninja system was still as strong as ever, and she.. She was a renegade living off of the scraps she could threaten or steal from peasants.

Something would have to change. Soon.

Letting loose a long, heavy sigh, Seika turned away from the remnants of Tomari, her heels kicking up ash with every step as she walked away from the village, her expression flat and dull, reflecting her mood. She walked for hours, cloak wrapped around her frame as she thought on what needed to be done- and so, when she rounded a small hill, she was utterly unprepared for the absolute slaughter that was before her. Men, or rather what was left of men, were strewn about the road in pieces, limbs hack off and tore from their bodies with clean, efficient cuts that had sent blood spraying over every inch of dirt and grass that could be seen. Some had died easily, falling to a severed throat or pierced heart, but others… others had gone down slowly.

And in the middle of it all stood a man; above average height, muscular, with a mane of thick, matted hair and a patchwork outfit that seemed closer to a beggar’s robe than anything else, the Nakajima would have dismissed him as nothing more than a waste of breath were it not for the trident sticking out of one of the men he had just killed. Whoever this man was, he was not a simple bandit- there was an air of forgettability about him that screamed Shinobi to her, and with the way he stood, nonchalant to all the violence around him, she had him pegged for a dangerous one. But the question remained: was he here for the men on the ground, or were they simply a tasty morsel before he tried to make her the main course? There was only one way to find out.

"Hello, warrior. Are you finished?”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

The rebels died quickly, without honour nor dignity. Whether violence was an inevitability of their confrontation, Mori truthfully could not say. The end result of the disagreement could have been an argument, with voices raised and tea spilt. But the shinobi knew better than to allow for the opposing party to strike first. He'd known that they were unskilled from the moment he'd first wandered into the inn, but luck was a factor on the battlefield, and he took no chances. His trident had carved through his conversation partner before the conflict spilt out onto the road. The battle had been swift, brutal, and bloody. Those rebels who he did not entrap with his jutsu were slain by sword and trident, their companions forced to watch until they were finally put down. A few lucky strikes had swept at Mori, but apart from a few glancing blows and the resulting flesh wounds, he'd come out of it tired but unscathed. He sighed as he pulled his trident from the last of the men to fall, a not-so untalented combatant who'd managed to avoid his jutsu but not his net. Cleaning the blood off the weapon was so bothersome. But his idle frustrations with the inconveniences of murder were forced to be put on hold when a voice reached out to him. There was no overt hostility in the tone, but his instincts had long since taught him that even the calmest looking waters could conceal serpents. Maintaining his composure, he drew his trident from the corpse, holding it firmly as he glanced over his shoulder. The newcomer was not what he was expecting. Raven-haired, dressed in a way that the son of a humble priest could only describe as elegant, and absolutely gorgeous, she was everything in appearance that the rabble of rebels were not. More than that, there was an aura to her, an easy confidence and poise that made it clear that she was dangerous, even if beautiful. "Quite finished," He responded calmly, a lazed smile settling over his features, "A simple disagreement, I'm sure you understand." Looking at the corpses strewn around him, and the blood that coated the grass, he blinked suddenly. No doubt some of that blood had also gotten on his person. Wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve, the red liquid stained his clothing. "I do hope that a humble discussion about tea and philosophy ending in a rather unfortunate argument isn't cause for concern for you? I do not particularly feel like engaging in any further exercise today, I've not eaten," The threat was not subtle, but neither was the blood-covered bandit, and yet he delivered it with the same lazy smile that one might discuss a particularly enjoyable meal, "I'd much rather see if these poor souls have a tea worth drinking, the swill they tried serving earlier was unbearable and I'd quite like to wash the taste from my mouth."

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

"A disagreement.” Seika said, her lips quirking up in a soft, knowing smirk as she watched the man pull his trident from the chest of his last victim, blood spraying from the wound in a fount of crimson that coated him all along one side. He was covered in the bits of gore and viscera, the evidence of his slaughter soaking through the rags he wore, staining them red to the point that no launderer would have even tried to cleanse them. It was, perhaps, the most interesting thing the Nakajima woman had seen in quite some time- enough so that her usual reaction to being threatened, even if indirectly, was stymied by sheer curiosity.

"Not at all. Though, if you don’t mind...” She said once the man was finished speaking, lowering her hood as she raised one arm and instantly cremated it, white flame surging around them, zipping between bodies as she set them all ablaze, her flame making short work of their remains. The heat would be, if not unbearable, then quite uncomfortable for the man, but none of her flames moved to strike him; indeed, none even came close, though she could have very easily attacked him with them.

Her task took mere moments, barely long enough for the man to inhale and exhale, but in that time her flames incinerated the bandits bodies, leaving nothing but ash in their wake. The grass was scorched, the fire threatening to spread to the forest as it burned- but with a thought, she summoned the white flames back into herself, reforming her arm and leaving only the smoldering, ashen remains of what they had touched behind.

"I’ve my own tea, if you’ve something to brew it with. You’re familiar with Da-Hong Pao, I assume?” Seika asked once her arm had reformed, looking none the worse for wear despite the display of raw power she had just shown. It was at once a subtle hint of what she was capable of and a genuine attempt at conversation- it was rare, after all, to find anyone who piqued her interest in the slightest, let alone intrigued her enough to let a threat, however indirect, slide. She would give this stranger a chance- if need be, she could easily dispense with him later.

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

The side of the bandit's mouth twisted into a smirk as the woman unleashed white fire upon the scene. He had expected something, but certainly not that. The fire did not come close to striking him, but he still found himself instinctively leaning away from its blaze, the heat slowly but surely bringing sweat to his brow and making him profoundly uncomfortable in his travelling clothes. But he dared not move. The woman had shown her strength, a threat display that reminded Mori of a cobra. To back down would be to show weakness. So he suffered for those brief moments, suffered in the heat and through the smell of burning bodies. Until what had once been men now lay as piles of ash, the putrid stench of burning hair and flesh continuing to sting Mori's nose. As the fire recoiled, Mori took note of how the flame seemed to have formed from her arm itself. The jutsu was not one that an average katon-user would be able to utilise, that much was clear. Whoever this woman was, she was descended from some sort of great clan. Alas, it was not one that he was familiar with. He had come across names and deed throughout his readings, but had often skimmed over the innate abilities associated with each family, his focus having been solely on the history and words of the rulers and warriors to which the ancient texts spoke. All he could say with confidence was that she was not of Kumogakure. Surrounded by blackened and scorched earth, the rather pleasant-sounding conversation would continue. Mori's threat had been answered with a profound display of power, and he found himself impressed for the first time since coming to the misbegotten land known as the Tea Country. He wanted to know more about this exceptionally curious individual. "An exceptional blend," Mori answered, "Although it is often hard to find someone from which to acquire it." The meaning behind her words were obvious. She was a woman of wealth, of status. Da-Hong Pao was an unbelievably expensive blend. Perhaps he had been mistaken in taking her for another nukenin, it was rather difficult to find luxuries when one was on the run from their former homeland. Of course, he had trialed the tea since his exile. A particularly wealthy merchant had given both his life and the leaves on a particularly cool September day. That had been an excellent afternoon. Regardless of his own reminiscence, whatever this woman's status, Mori would need to uncover further information. A noble lady who seemed to care not for wanton death, that was something he could not immediately place. "I would be honoured to share my pot and cups with you, there are few greater pleasures in life than a cup of tea and good conversation," He was almost too casual in how he struck his trident into the ground with a thunk, removed his pack, and withdrew a rather well-worn pewter teapot and two thick stone cups from said pack, "You must forgive my equipment. Ceramics tend to break on the road, and I find myself travelling quite often these days." The heat of the fire, and the still smoldering ash continued to sit uncomfortably against Mori's skin as he spoke, and so with the tea set secured, he removed his jacket, revealing his simple linen travelling clothes. Folding the blood-covered clothing and placing it beside his pack and trident. "But before we drink, I must apologise for my lack of manners. My dear ma would be appalled. Shindera Mori," He walked toward her as he spoke, unarmed except for the tea set, "And you 'aint the sort of woman one normally sees in the Tea Country."

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

"Indeed.” Seika said, her lips quirking up in a soft, knowing smile as she reached into her cloak, hands forming a single seal and focusing her chakra in order to summon the tin that held her precious supply of Da-Hong Pao. It was indeed a rare blend, the rarest in the world, with a single sip costing as much as a thousand ryo. The tin in her hand would have taken a serious chunk out of even her considerable fortune had she paid for it like a civilian. Thankfully, she was rather above such things, her natural charm and force of will being enough to convince the tea merchant who had owned it previously to part with it in exchange for his life.

She had taken that too, a day later.

"Oh, I am all too aware, good sir.” The raven-haired woman said, her smile twisting into an annoyed grimace as she remembered her own tea set, a fine ceramic imported from Ranmataru, complete with a beautiful pot covered in finely etched silver. She had been forced to leave it behind in her escape, but there was little doubt in her mind that the cups would have long since shattered. Seals could only do so much, after all. "I’ve been forced to drink from worse, these last few months.”

Seika watched patiently as the man set down his weapons, her internal wariness fading by a sliver at the sight; she knew there was nothing that said he could not simply pick the trident and net back up again, but experience told her a weapon in hand was far more dangerous than one not. It wasn’t until the man introduced himself, however, that she showed any sign of reacting, one eyebrow lifting in surprise… and recognition. "Shindera Mori” was not a name well known across the continent, but the name sparked something in the back of her mind, a memory from months before of a merchant who tried to bargain for his life with information.

"Ah, the Bandit Scholar. I was wondering if we would ever cross paths.” She said once Mori was finished, her smile broadening slightly as she reached up and undid the clasp on her cloak, carefully collecting the fine silk garment in one arm while her other reached out, holding up the Da-Hong Pao. Under normal circumstances she would not have bothered with her own name, preferring to let her reputation and the fierceness of her flames speak for her… but this man intrigued her.

"Nakajima Seika. Though you would likely know me by my other name, ‘Owari Nenshou.’” The raven-haired woman replied, her amber-gold gaze glimmering with interest as she spoke, looking for Mori’s reaction to not only her name, but the moniker by which she had earned her fearsome, terrifying reputation.

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

"The road is a place for only small luxuries," Mori nodded solemnly, his attention turning toward the preparation of the tea as they spoke. But even his practiced hands paused for a moment as the woman spoke his moniker. He'd not been expecting that. Of course, he'd hardly been going out of the way to hide his identity beyond the continued adoption of his rather unassuming visage. Still, he'd have thought that he was a small enough fish that his name had not yet left the Lightning Country and its surrounds. But it was her continued introduction that caused him greater apprehension. Nakajima Seika. He knew that name, he knew it well. The Burning Death. If the Bandit Scholar was a boogeyman spoken in hushed tones by worried travelers, then Owari Nenshou was a name that struck fear into the hearts of the most world-weary of shinobi. Her expensive taste, the ease with which she commanded flame, the utter nonchalance she had toward his threat and display of violence, every puzzle piece clicked into place simultaneously. Mori allowed himself a moment of visible hesitation, before he finished filling the teapot with water and placing it on the small steeple of flame upon which he had built. Ironically, knowing who she was, it may have been quicker to have the embodiment of the fires of destruction bring the water to a boil. Relaxing his posture, Mori's face maintained the same lackadaisical smile, "You honour me, I didn't think my name had reached this far into the countryside. And to hear it spoken by someone as famous as yourself... Well, let me just say it is something of an honour to meet the Owari Nenshou herself. Your reputation truly precedes you." Mori dusted his hands against his haunches, "Well, shall we dispense with the euphemisms then? I take it neither of us have much to gain by bringing the head of the other to the ANBU dogs. "I didn't expect to see someone so well regarded in our profession this far off the beaten path, although I suppose the Tea Country is something of a powder keg from which opportunity can be siphoned... I digress, what brings you to this crossroads today?"

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika saw the expression on the man’s face shift from wary unease to cold, dreadful understanding and knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was not a fool. There was a moment, however brief, of true hesitation as the man prepared their tea, his hands freezing in recognition and a palpable, if controlled, fear that had the raven-haired woman smiling. It was rare, these last few months, for anyone to be truly afraid of her; the peasants she intimidated were simple folk, ignorant of much of the outside world, which meant that her reputation rather often mattered little to them. She had been forced to kill a number of promising recruits because of that.

"I make it my business to be informed of those who wander the roads.” The Nakajima woman said, strolling over towards the fire as Mori stoked the flames, her amber-gold gaze lingering on the heat, the white flame within echoing its call, eager to devour. She held it back though, and settled herself neatly on her cloak, long legs stretched out towards the fire with nary a worry of being burned, her posture as alluring as ever. She doubted a man such as the one before her would be drawn to such things, but habits could not be broken so easily.

What the man said next, however, surprised her; his demeanor shifted, the fear and hesitation fading into relaxation as he spoke frankly, laying both compliment and veiled criticism down as easily breathing. There was a moment, a brief one, where the raven-haired woman considered immolating the man for his insolence, but the feeling quickly passed as she watched the water boil, her annoyance fading as the smell of charred flesh wafted through her nose.

"Worthy followers.” Seika said after a long moment, her amber-gold gaze shifting towards the north for a moment as she spoke. Emiri had taken many things from her the day she had set her up, but the lying bitch hadn’t taken everything- and in the years since she had left Yukigakure, the raven-haired Nakajima had learned enough to know that, for all the power she had, it was not enough. If she wanted to enact her revenge, if she wanted to establish her reign over the world… she would need help. Much as it galled her to admit it.

"And you? What brings you to Tea Country?”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

When confronted with a bear, one was required to raise themselves to their full height, to appear as much a threat to the predator as it was to them. Nakajima Seika was far more dangerous than any bear. If he were to show weakness, then she would turn him into ash like she had countless before him. Fear gripped Mori's insides, and yet, he managed to keep it under control. Self-preservation dictated that he maintain a mask of nonchalance. But that alone did not fuel him. Genuine curiosity had been sparked. For so long he had been bereft of any sort of company that could be described as enjoyable. Instead, he'd made do with what little country wisdom could be dispensed. A threat to the entire world, a woman who could turn armies to cinders, that was the chance for a conversation that did not cine around very often. Perhaps he was a hedonist, in pursuit of the pleasure of greater knowledge, of greater understanding, he did not know. But he knew that he wanted to learn more about this woman. Steeping the leaves with boiling water, Mori did not bring himself to meet her amber-gold eyes. He was not foolish enough to challenge her. Nor did he trust himself to maintain that gaze. Instead, he kept his indifferent smile, hsi relaxed posture. "Worthy conversation," He answered, watching the tea dye the water with colour and fragrance both. "Kumogakure... No, the Lightning Country as a whole is bereft of anyone of any modicum of intelligence or coherent thought. I sought to understand the world so I left to seek it," The fact that he had murdered someone in his desertion went unsaid, no doubt his status as a fugitive would make the illegal nature of his departure obvious, even if not in the specifics. "My homeland has been ruled by a succession of Raikage who serve naught but their own interests and that of the clans that pull the strings, and the daimyo is as foolish as a bastard child who thinks his father will return with tales of adventure and war," Passion crept into his voice, his eyes hardening, "I did not wish to be a slave to the world, so I left to explore it." The tension simmered in his shoulders for a moment, before he allowed them to relax, "Alas, the Tea Country is also filled with fools and slaves. Associate with people who are likely to improve you. I have not been seeking followers, but I suppose we have both been seeking company of a sort... My apologies, I have rambled."

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika sat, listening to Mori’s words, her gaze lingering on the flickering flames of their campfire. She well knew the feelings the man described, the frustration and scorn that sat beneath the sly smile. She had felt them, each in turn, during her time beneath Saya and Emiri’s thumbs, a slowly building fury that had exploded in an inferno upon her betrayal, erupting through lives and burning a path of destruction all across her wake ever since. It was the anger of the strong, forced to live in a world where the weak and incompetent ruled, forced to bow to those who were unworthy of the privilege like a slave.

"Snow Country is much the same.” She said, glancing back at the man as he worked on the tea, taking careful note of how he handled her leaves; there was precious little of the Da-Hong Pao in the tin, enough for two or three pots at most, and she would not have him waste it. "The Yoi rule the land with an iron fist, to be sure, but they are a pack of fools seeking an unattainable goal, and the other clans kneel at their feet, praising them for the scraps Saya deigns to feed them.” It was pathetic, really, how little the Shinobi of Yukigakure thought about the predicament they lived in, that they accepted each and every day as normal, when it was far from the truth.

"One should never apologize for speaking the truth.” Seika said after a moment, her voice calm and controlled despite the thoughts and flames that seethed within. "Too few Shinobi bother to reflect on the worth of those they serve, Shindera. Too few understand just how rotted the villages truly are, how badly they need to be torn down and replaced by something… purer.”

That had always been her aim, even before her desertion; her desire to rule the Nakajima, to segway that into the Ladyship of Yukigakure and, eventually, the supplanting of the Daimyo in favor of a system more like Mizu no Kuni… it had all been for that one, singular purpose. To build a world where she and the Nakajima ruled, as they had always been meant to do.

"What is the point of strength, if it is not given to those with the will to enact change?”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

His hands were deft and practised. Whilst blood tainted his past and determined his future, it was tea where Mori truly excelled, not murder. Each leaf of the brew was worth more than he’d likely see for the rest of the year in banditry and thieving, and he had no intention of wasting a morsel. But as he worked, he listened, and found himself enraptured. For so long, he felt as if he’d been preaching to crows, yet here, here, this woman had understood his frustration, his rage, and mirrored it back to him almost instantly. Despite their evident differences in background, in the circumstances that had lead them to the crossroads on that fateful day, it was clear, at least to Mori, that they shared more than they didn’t. "Exactly!” He responded, his voice the most animated it had been all day. His eyes flickered from the tea to the woman, before returning to the brew. It was finished. Carefully removing it from the flames and pouring it into the cups, he continued, "The society in which we live, the whole world, mind you, every village, every nation, is built upon a falsehood, a lie.” Offering a cup to the woman, he would finally see fit to sit, taking a seiza position, more out of habit than comfort. ANBU training and discipline, it seemed, had not been entirely drained from his essence. "The clans,” The word was spit like a slur, "Tell me, how many of the clan leaders in the Snow Country are worthy of the title? Or are they merely the children of the children of the children of great men and women? The weak politick and plot, and their incestuous discussions birth systems that see the strong suffer and die, forced to serve their whims. "No, I say, no. They call me Bandit because I dare to deny their falsity, to claim what is owed to me. I have strength, strength I have earned through hardship and war, yet I would serve as a tool in their plans. No. I claim my own destiny. I kill for me and mine.” His grip tightened around his cup, "Strength belongs to those who wield it, and those with convictions are the only ones worthy to wield it toward the future. They would have us serve as dogs for their own aims, and why? Because a council of fools and weaklings decide it so. "The heaviest penalty for declining to rule is to be ruled by someone inferior to yourself.” Anger had fueled his words, righteous indignation burning away the calm facade that he’d put up thus far. And, with his words, his eyes burned.

Nakajima Seika /div]

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika was, for the first time in a long, long while, surprised. When Mori responded to her words, it was not with the guarded, wary cynicism she come to expect from men who lived the life he did; instead, he spoke with an enthusiasm that would have been better suited to a man speaking to a crowd of followers than a lone stranger, his argument paralleling her own, but with added twists. There was anger, yes, but beyond the anger was passion- a burning desire to impose his will upon the world that had long been stymied by the powers that be. Taking the cup from the bandit’s offered hand, the Nakajima woman maintained her lounging position, holding the stone cup of Da-Hong Pao aloft near her lips as she listened to him speak.

"None.” She replied after a moment, sipping the luxurious, peaty liquid as she spoke, the notes of brown sugar and molasses floating in her mouth before being finished off by the gentle backwash of stone fruit and tobacco. "They are, to a man, the most petty, pathetic lot of sycophantic bootlickers I have ever had the displeasure of meeting. Especially the Yuki clan head.” To hold the kind of power as Mei Minamoto did, as any of the clan leaders did, and yet kneel before a woman so obviously incapable of leading as Saya… it baffled her, how they managed to maintain such blind stupidity.

Still, what the man shared was intriguing, his passion and anger evident; it was rare for her to find anyone who held even a remotely similar view of the world as she did, let alone one who had the intelligence to express that view as simply as Mori had just done. For a long few moments, Seika said nothing further, enjoying the heady flavors of her tea, thoughts spiraling in a thousand different directions as she contemplated what to say to this fascinating man- but eventually, she settled on a story, her voice calm and almost wistful but for the bright, vibrantly white flames that burned across her eyes.

"Allow me to tell you a story, Shindera-san. When I was young, my parents instilled in me the virtue of power. The Nakajima are a clan ruled by power; the White Flame is supposed to be an absolute ruler, a King or Queen whose word is law and whose will guides the clan into prominence.” She paused, taking a sip from her cup, gaze shifting from the fire and towards Mori, her eyes still burning with the flames she had been born to, the flames she had earned, by right of blood and strength.

"There had never, in the history of my clan, been two White Flame’s at the same time... Until I was born. My parents thought it a sign, an omen from the goddess of Flame who, supposedly, had gifted us with our power in the first place. Why else would a second White Flame be born into the world, if not for the weakness and unworthiness of the first? So they raised me to be the true leader of our clan; to grow strong, to value no other opinion but my own, to show my people the error of following Emiri and her cowardly, manipulative ways.” Another pause, this time to breathe- it was hard for her to speak of the bitch without losing her temper, but it would not do to have the man burn because of her lack of control.

"Emiri, as you may have guessed, did not agree with this assessment. So as my influence grew, as my star rose and hers waned, she devised a scheme. A scroll, falsified to appear as orders, directing me to kill a rogue Shinobi. I completed the task and, upon my return, my village declared me a murderer, demanded I turn myself over to face justice, to be punished for my actions.” The Nakajima woman’s body burned with those words, the White Flames rising like a wave as she slowly began to transform into the monstrous, all consuming fire that sat within her soul… but only for a moment. Then she was calm, her flames fading to nothing as she spoke, voice alight with the quiet, passionate understanding that had eluded her for so long.

"And like a fire, I understood. The lesson my parents had tried to instill in me had not gone far enough; they spoke of strength to rule the Nakajima, but failed to see the rot within the village they served. Failed to see the worthlessness of the Daimyou, the Lords and Ladies, the Kage… all of them, fools and hypocrites, liars bent on perpetuating a system that keeps the strong in cages, dancing to the whims of the weak.”

"So I burned them. Every Shinobi that stood in my way, died. Every house, every cart, every living thing I could reach was purified by my flames… and in so doing, I escaped. Stole a ship. Made my way to the mainland to begin my search, not for servants or slaves, but soldiers. Because I refuse to bow to an unworthy fool ever again. And if I must burn the world to ash to ensure it, then the world will burn.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

Seika burned with a fire of passion, one in the literal sense of the word, flames rising from her like waves. But Mori did not back down in fear, he did not hesitate, not like his instincts had begged of him before. His fire was not external, but internal, yet it matched hers in ferocity. Their paths, their origins differed, greatly it seemed, but their distaste for the world was the same. Circumstances of birth, coincidences of fate, sheer and utter happenstance had doomed them to a path that was not one of rulership. A path that was reserved for those few lucky enough to be born to the right loins, whether they be worthy of such a title or not. Mori listened intently as the woman told her tale, his eyes reflecting the passion with which she spoke. For a moment after she finished, he was silent, letting the emptiness settle over the poignancy of what she said. "Those in control are truly rotted,” He said finally, "When a crop takes bad, when plague and pestilence strikes, it is the duty of the farmer to kill and raze the infection lest it spread. Otherwise the virus will settle in the roots and return. You cannot trim away those areas that merely appear to be blighted, the whole plot must be… burned.” "I’m afraid the tale behind my own exile, my own search is less inspiring than your own. But the theme remains the same. Plague struck at my homeland, at Kumogakure. Hundreds died, and the rulers did nothing… hell, they could not even save themselves. We were expected to throw our lives upon the funeral pyre for naught… It was enlightening. Elucidating.” "I had been blinded, but the stench of death awoke me. I had set myself on the path of being a tool to be used, a life in service to another, in service to a system I never believed in. I was not subject to a plot, a falsity like yourself… I was beneath such notice. But the falsehood was the very system under which I lived. We lived.” Empassioned calmness had taken over him, the appearance of gospel preacher giving way to that of a tired man, one who had spent too long reading, and had found the world outside of books wanting. "Yet, I fear that the world will never change. You seek soldiers, but I see you are alone,” He held a hand up, "I mean no offence, I do not doubt your skills.” Mori spat, a dry gesture, he would not waste the tea, "I doubt that of the sheep masquerading as men I have encountered on the road. Very few are worthy, most are content to live life as serfs and pawns.” "The system truly has become pervasive, omnipresent, unkillable.”

Nakajima Seika

[Nakajima Seika]

Seika listened to Mori speak, her attention, for once, fully focused on the presence and words of another. There was passion in the former Kumo-nin’s voice, passion and anger, yet it was tempered by something even more powerful: resignation. The quiet dread, the soft acceptance of what was, the failure of all attempts to change the status quote- it made things feel inevitable. Immutable. As if the very world itself was bent on keeping things the way they were, with no hope of change or reform. The strong would always be held back by the weak, and those rare few who saw the truth would always be vilified for their understanding. It was a powerful feeling, one she had been struggling with herself. And yet…

No.

"No, it is not.” The woman said after a long moment of silence, the tea in her hands steaming as she spoke, voice soft but firm, firmer than it had been even when she retold the story of how she had been betrayed. "Our destiny is not to languish in obscurity and fear, Shindera-san. We are too powerful for that, too important. The world is corrupted, yes. But it is always darkest just before the dawn.” There was a fervor to her now, an insistent, almost manic denial that seeped through the Nakajima’s words, as if her very essence rejected the idea of things being impossible to change- of her being unable to enact her vision upon the world.

"One way or the other, I will see this old world burn away. I will make it happen. And in its place…” Seika paused lifting her free hand up to summon her white flame, the flickering fire burning hot even without her emotions to empower it beyond the norm. "A true world. Where the strong rule, the weak kneel, and I am revered for the wonder I am.”

Shindera Mori

[Shindera Mori]

Mori had been unaware of the passion that had seeped into his own words, the musical tones of a preacher colouring his hatred before fading away to reveal the man beneath. He was tired, a wounded animal who had been cast into the shadow, forced to content himself with the reality that he was doomed to a life of solitude and criminality. The powers that be were simply too powerful for him to mount anything more than a tokenistic resistance. No, he had long since resigned himself to the understanding that the only thing he could control was his own life. He could learn, he could grow, and he could leave something behind for others. His fate was not too set the world ablaze. Passion, however, also flowed through Seika’s words. Where his had died, her’s had arisen, a manic fire touching her words as she denied his denialist statements. Despite the similarities of their circumstances, they truly were different beasts. She saw a fate that he simply could not, a future that seemed to be right before her. Fear touched at Mori’s being for a moment, before it washed away, burned away, by something entirely different. Excitement. He had longed, longed desperately, for someone with whom to debate. Someone who understood the poison that was the current power system. Seika may have been an optimist, but the possibility for discussion, for debate, it forced his face into a widened grin. A manic smile matching her own. Seika’s white flame illuminated the pair, faces cast in that pale light. "A world I would long to see,” Mori spoke… "But you, I, we are but two.” "Your reputation precedes you, my dear Lady, and I have no doubt that you would be able to bring fire and destruction to the countless insects who call themselves shinobi…” Mori sighed, "But could you bring that fire to the entire world? What difference can a few make? Even a wolf can be brought down by jackals, should they number enough.” "The root of the trees grows too deep, the branches expand too far. No matter how much one burns away, something will regrow, and the sun will be choked out… I admire your optimism, but I cannot share it.” "What little I can do is to learn, to teach, to…” His smile faded, "Survive.”

Nakajima Seika