The Ocean of Not
A scout, walking the strange lands between honor and disgrace
FIRE: 2 (Agility: 3, Intelligence: 2)
AIR: 2 (Reflexes: 3, Awareness: 2)
WATER: 2 (Strength: 2, Perception: 3)
EARTH: (Stamina: 3, Willpower: 2)
Lore: Shadowlands: 2
Techniques: Dance the Razor’s Edge (+5 TN against Shadowlands or anyone with Shdaowlands taint)
Strength of the Earth (dice penalty for wounds assessed one level lower than actual wound box)
Onikage Stink (Horses detect the smell of the undead picked up in SHadowlands, won’t come near him)
Primary Weapon: Katana (3k2)
Primary Armor: Light armor
TN to be hit: 20 (15 without armor)
Hiruma Gorou was a scout, one of the Crab Clan’s thousand trusted eyes. Nothing more, and no less.
Like all who pass the trials of the Hiruma school, he could run far afield without tiring, wearing silence and shadow like a weathered cloak. He could nourish his hardened gut on black water and razor grass, and read the Taint of the Shadowlands in the winds above and the mud beneath his feet.
On the seventh day of his eighth rotation of the year, Gorou staggered into one of the many encampments beyond the Wall, bloodied and near-dead from thirst and exposure. The three scout brothers who had journeyed with him into the Shadowlands were not to be found. Gorou himself had no recollection of anything beyond the second day of the trek, when he and his fellow scouts had made first camp in the blackened lands beyond.
There were those in the elder circle who proclaimed his honor, for he had surely survived some ordeal that his fellow scouts could not. Others whispered “coward,” and said he must have run and left his cousins to a dreadful fate.
Gorou met their quibbling with silence. He had no memory of what had occurred, and could not speak his guilt or innocence without risking a lie. He rested, and after four long weeks, the day of his next rotation arrived.
“You won’t be attending this rotation, Gorou,” said the house elder. “The daimyo and his advisers still do not know what to make of you.”
He placed a wizened hand on the young scout’s shoulder.
“Perhaps you should take some time for yourself while they decide.”
The old man’s words slid through Gorou as a cold blade.