The Western Lands

There had been trouble, as per the usual - a small and careful raid on a pair of outskirt farms of Napo. Crops and sheep had been stolen and the bandits responsible fled west towards the sea rather than making a break for their camp to the east. It had been a tactic to help avoid having forces come directly after them. By the afternoon, they were well beyond the river and at the sandy beaches. Wagons were being reorganized to avoid losing a single grain of rice or even one stalk of wheat in travels, as well as tether up the livestock to herd them along.

"Such a good haul," said one man. "Bet we can make this last a little while."

"Yeah, if you'll stop eating everything in sight!" teased another.

The banter and chatter continued for a little longer, before one pointed out something that caught their attention. What luck - something had just washed up from a high wave that crashed on the beach. It was a weathered crate that had been half submerged in water when it finally tumbled into the sand, no longer lifted by the water. Two of the bandits nearly skipped over in excitement - they scoured the surface for any ink or marking that might give a clue as to what was inside, or from what ship did it come from. Perhaps it would be more food, or even goods to be sold. Maybe weapons, if they were lucky.

However, there were no markers. The crate itself was well made but not perfect - water was trickling from crevices and running across the planks to the sand. Whatever was inside might be ruined if it was waterlogged. But they struggled to try and pry one side open regardless.

Initially there was no sensing the oncoming man's intentions. But one of seven men had perked his head up and spotted the lone figure coming up along the sand. He was armed. But being alone meant he was likely not a patrol - and that meant easy pickings in addition to their haul before they headed back south.

The alerted brother of the band tapped another on the shoulder and pointed out the lone warrior. Eventually all seven heads came up, and were grinning with the same brilliant idea to rob this sucker for everything he had and leave no witnesses. The crate was abandoned for now as they all stood and righted themselves - hands going for katana swords and daggers of their own.

Two paused as the rest had stepped forward eagerly, one halting the other with a solid palm to his comrade's breast.

"What? What is it?"

Another stopped, and then another. Something chilling was on the air, despite not a lick of a cooler season was kissing the sea air. And it was malicious. Bloodthirsty. Something was off, and it was about this approaching man. His arriving presence was unnerving them all one by one, and they were stopping in uncertainty. Who was he?

Seeing that reveal of the blade, even just a sliver, sent a chill down the spines of those present and in the warpath of the Shogun - and one of them was starting to recognize the man as he closed the distance. His eyes widened, and he turned tail to bolt in the next instance. Much to the surprise and alarm of his comrades, some of which turned to watch him go in bewilderment. What was up with him?

Three at the head of the small pack returned on their charge, each armed with a katana of simple, strong make, and crossed the sand in long strides looking to take down Takehiko with little effort. They were an arrowhead, and the one on point drew his blade and sought to bring it down from a hard overhead swing to try and cleave him apart.

Blood splattered across the two that completed the arrowhead as the poor fool that led the assault was sent twirling over himself until he finally hit the sand with a garbled scream - turning the yellow-brown grains beneath him a horrible dark color as his life bled out, no matter how he tried to staunch it with his hands across a terrible wound.

The one near Takehiko had to charge - if he stopped, he would surely die. The other point of the arrowhead ceased, gaping in utter horror at his comrade on the ground. The Shogun would find himself set upon by the second man, blade tucking into the bandit's right side and lashing out in a clear horizontal slash as he lunged right in.

One more trembled with nervous energy by the malice emitted by the man, and rushed in as well. The remaining two... fled. They gathered up what goods they could in their arms, dropping much in a panic, and turned tail to run like jackals.

The second man let out a shriek just as terrible as the first as his body was sliced clean open across his front, and he hit the ground with very little movement in pure shock and pain. The one that had joined him in the charge initially was quick to turn, too, and run for his miserable life. The stolen crops and trinkets be damned - he could pillage another day!

The final one remaining stopped dead in his tracks as he saw another one drop, and the vicious intent in the man's eyes. He hesitated for a good, long second as the reality of his impending doom slammed into him like a runaway horse. He choked on a breath, and turned on his heel to try and scramble out of reach of this killer.

Blinding pain, it was. There was a third pitiful scream in the air, this one long and drawn out, breaking at several points as the man at Takehiko's feet writhed and strained to drag his ragged form across the sand - away from the Shogun and towards his comrades. But they were abandoning him with no regard.

Save for the yell that called their attention, two of the three within earshot still stopped and turned - still easing after their escape but watching with terror filled eyes as they were shouted at. Despite their better judgement, they watched.

The man condemned to death barely had a moment to blubber out a word in pleading for mercy before his head was severed cleanly from his shoulders.

And the ones that dared to watch nearly collapsed in pure terror and sickness as they watched their comrade fall like that... when the head went flying as it was thrown they turned and scrambled to flee as fast as they could - taking absolutely nothing with them. Their lives were much more precious.

In their wake, most of the food stolen and few trinkets of worth - crafted jewelry and tools and the like - were piled up in a rickety wagon and still sitting where it had been parked with a single white and brown patched mare still hitched up. Plus the water-weathered crate on the shore that had washed up.

The crate certainly wasn't a Dongshu shipment - there were no identifying marks on any of the six sides. The only think that really could be discerned from it was the fact the wood was damp from prolonged time in the water, and some was still trickling out through the cracks as well as a cork-sized hole in the land facing side that the bandits had attempted to pry open. Upon the tapping on the side nothing happened. Not a sound was heard, and nothing moved inside.

With the power from the man himself and the weakened state of the wood, the panel began to break and splinter with relative ease. Light spilled into the dark container more and more as he continued to widen the opening. He would find quickly enough that something smaller than the crate was inside. He would find the top of a head, with long strands of night black splayed everywhere and tangled, matted from the water. As more light poured into the small space, he would easily find a thin, tiny woman curled up against the floor of the crate - her skin almost grey, her form shrunken like a starved animal. Her hands were bound. Her feet were bound. The wet clothing that hung off her body was foreign, but her physical features looked possibly native. She didn't stir in the slightest - it was unclear if she was even alive.