The Mantis Clan Civil War
Suitengu’s Blessing was an old sake house. The kind of sake house that creaked when you opened the door, where songs were sung by men who never heard them, and you could hear the voices of patrons long gone. It was a legend of Kyuden Gotei, a home for Mantis sailors recently returned. Local legend claimed the bar was founded by Kaimetsu-uo himself, though only the peasant bar man knew the truth. It was a night like any other night in Suitengu’s Blessing. Drink flowed freely from cups into mouths, bawdy jokes leapt from lips to ears, and laughter rang out without warning or fanfare. Most paid little mind to the white armbands sported by the samurai, or the urgency some took to their drinks with. Everyone knew.
“... then I says, ‘Aramasu-dono, nobody can take a whale that big.’ And then he says, I swear to all the fortunes above, he says ‘Funny, they said that about your mother.’” The man’s laughter was hot, his reddened face and bleary eyes giving away just how long he’d been here. His colors showed that he was a member of the Yoritomo Elite Guard, the elite in the armies of the Mantis. His arm was draped lazily over the waist of a serving girl. The crowd of men around him laughed with him, some spurting shochu from their nose. “I’ll never forget what he did next! He rolled his shoulders, took those giant kama in his hands, and leapt off the deck! I swear to my dying day he smiled as he went in. the waves took him, and then we felt the whole ship roll. Stock and ropes flew everywhere, and the water was all white with froth. Every now and again, you could see a hand come up out of there, a flash of that Yoritomo steel. It must’ve been minutes he was down there.” The crowd was hushed, listening in. The men who knew the Mantis knew there was nothing they loved more than stories; no, than legends themselves. This was a legend that quieted the bar, smaller tales going quiet. “Time went by just like that. Motion and violence, and a storm above us. The ship rocked and we held on for grim death. I whispered a prayer to Suitengu, and Yakamo, and Yoritomo, and all the gods I knew. Aramasu wouldn’t let the whale that took his father’s ship get away from him. Then, just like that,” he snapped his fingers, with a sound like a thunderbolt in the quiet bar, “It was over. The seas quieted, the boat settled. He swam, swam! Right up to the ship, climbed our net, and it was done.” The storyteller reached to the bar, and held a cup high. “To Yoritomo Aramasu, the last Champion of the Mantis!”
A murmur spread through the crowd. Another man stepped up. His clothers were fine, tailored and embroidered with the mon of the elite Storm Legion. “Aramasu was not the last champion. You forget your place.” His voice was calm, his intent clear. “Your champion is Yoritomo Gusai.”
The storyteller put his drink down, slowly, and stood. There was no sound, no one else in the room made a move. He looked around the room, slowly. Steel glinted dull in the light of the tavern. “Gusai is not my champion,” he said. He saw the other man reach into his obi, a dagger in his hand in one swift motion. The storyteller lunged, sake cup in hand, and smashed it into the other man’s face. In a moment, the air was thick with blood and spilled sake. Samurai and peasant alike fought with knives, kama, chair legs, and their own two hands when they had nothing else. Lanterns tipped over, spilling into pools of spilled sake.
Fire cares not for the size of the spark, only that it exists..
Moments later, Suitengu’s Blessing was consumed by fire, but even that could not contain the struggle. Fighting first spread to other taverns. Magistrates were summoned, but they could not agree on who to arrest. As samurai brawled around them they resolved their disputes with steel. All through the streets of Kyuden Gotei, Mantis fought Mantis in a destructive revelry. Heroes fought and died in the gutters. The fire that consumed Suitengu’s Blessing spread, devouring the city as desperate bucket brigades were driven back by the intense fighting. Finally, inexorably, the fire reached the walls of Kyuden Gotei itself.
Castle walls that had never been besieged surrendered to the greedy fire. Alarm bells rang out, the clang nearly drowned out by the movement of castle guards and servants. The fire licked at the ground, incinerating a garden full of plants that would never be seen in Rokugan again. Water from bucket brigades poured onto the flames, driving it back, but the defenders of Kyuden Gotei could not fight it everywhere. Bright against the night, an entire wing of the castle burned.
The Battle of Kyuden Gotei, as it would be called later, was a disaster. Entire sections of the city were reduced to ash. Hundreds of samurai, and an unknown number of peasants and eta, perished in the fighting and the flames. Kyuden Gotei itself would survive the night, though it would stand scorched and broken; a silent witness to the wages of ambition.
The audience hall of the Defender of Golden Sun Bay lacked only one thing: restraint. Gaudy tapestries hailing the victories of its champion lined the walls, expensive woven rugs from distant lands covered the floor. It was a room large enough for several dozen, but now it contained only three. On a throne sat the Mantis Clan Champion, Yoritomo Gusai. He was dressed ruggedly, his weapons ready at his side. “What is Kamato thinking,” he said as he rubbed his forehead, the motion of his hand failing to disguise the frustration written on his face. His free hand fidgeted with a scroll and would occasionally wander down to the knife at his side. “This is a disaster. How could he hate me enough to have Kyuden Gotei attacked? What purpose does it serve?”
If her Champion’s behavior bothered her, she showed none of it. “He is one of the clan’s greatest generals,” replied Yoritomo Kitao, captain of the Bitter Root’s Blossom, and newly appointed commander of the Storm Legion. “He commanded the invasion of the Ivory Kingdoms, and even Aramasu bowed to his knowledge in warfare. I’ve seen it myself… He must have had a plan.”
“No plan is worth what happened at Kyuden Gotei,” Gusai snapped. He stood quickly, pacing around the room. “It’s embarrassing for us all! Storm Legion and Elite Guard alike… Praise Daikoku, it didn’t take the vaults.”
“We must have a reply, lord Gusai,” said Kitao evenly. “We must not look weak.”
“How do we look weak in this, Kitao?” Gusai stood from his thronw, and walked down to stand face to face with Kitao. For her part, she with upturned chin held the heat of her Champion’s gaze. “Your report beat the Elite Guard’s to the punch. Yours is the one the daimyo of the clan will read. He can’t survive this.”
“He can if you do nothing, my lord. The Yoritomo,” and she did not fail to notice the shadow that passed over her Champion’s face as she said the name, “are a family of deeds and actions. You are the rightful Champion of the Mantis Clan. Kamoto is a pretender propped up by addle-minded followers. This is the moment to strike.”
Gusai sneered. “You would put Mantis blood on my hands, woman?” He threw the scroll at her feet. “Don’t you know what that would cost us? Blood and treasure, our hard-earned prizes for all of our work.”
“And if you don’t put him down, he will defeat you.” Gusai’s teeth clenched, and a vein began pumping angrily on his forehead. “He defied you when he did not bend his knee. He rallies Mantis to his banner. He has victories on the Day of Thunder, he was there when lord Yoritomo died, and even Aramsu knelt to his strategies. You hesitate because you know he. Will. Beat. You.” Each word was accented, defiant. Each word, true and sharp. She watched as Gusai’s face flashed with anger. Gusai clenched his fists, and snorted.
“I fear no man and no outcome. I am the Mantis Clan Champion, sworn before the Regent himself.” His eyes narrowed, focusing in on her. “I can crush him whenever I want.”
“Then why haven’t you?” Kitao asked simply.
The third storm has three admirals, each commanding thirty captains, each of them has anywhere between 3 and 10 ships under their command, Yoritomo Kamoto thought. Spread before him was a map of the Islands of Silk and Spice and the coast of Rokugan, with ships laid out on broad colored. lines. He reached his hand out, rearranging the ships, the movement of the small wooden icons reflecting something only he could see. He heard the door to his room open, and a servant knelt. For a time, Kamoto didn’t speak, simply arranging and rearranging the tiny wooden ships. As minutes passed, the servant finally cleared his throat. Kamoto still said nothing, rearranging the ships again, each piece moving to a current only he knew. “My lord,” the servant said and finally Kamoto stopped, and turned to face the intruder. He was an old samurai, long used to holding his On, and that alone is what kept surprise from his face. The man kneeling before him was no servant, but Yoritomo Tsuyu, his second in command. Kamoto turned back to his board. “Speak, Tsuyu-san. We have no need to stand on formalities.”
“We do today, lord Kamoto.” Tsuyu said. He reached into his obio and produced a scroll, offering it to Kamoto. “We have a report from Kyuden Gotei.” Kamoto sighed, then accepted the message. He paused as he saw the seal.
“A report from the Storm Legion? They cut off communications to us months ago.”
“It seems that some news is of more importance than to whom we kneel, my Champion.” Kamoto’s eyes hooded for a moment at Tsuyu’s words, but he broke the seal nonetheless. He scanned the report, his eyes darting back and forth over hastily written characters. After several long, silent moments, Tsuyu looked up. He knew Kamoto as one of the greatest generals of the Mantis Clan, and his former commander in the Yoritomo Elite Guard. Tsuyu knew that no other living man had studied as well or as long at Dojo Raiden as Yoritomo Kamoto. Tsuyu knew that when called to make a stand, when Kamoto refused to bend knee to Yoritomo Gusai, that the Mantis could not have asked for a better leader. That was of course why, when he saw Kamoto openly weeping at the report, he could not hide his shock. He looked away immediately, but he knew that Kamoto saw him. His shame was tremendous, and his face reddened. “The house of Yoritomo himself scarred by this. We cannot fail to act much longer,” Kamoto eventually said. His voice was tight, measured, and in it Tsuyu could hear all the words left unsaid.
“I will follow where you lead, my lord, as will the Yoritomo Elite Guard. We will not serve a pretender to Yoritomo’s throne.” Tsuyu heard Kamoto rest the scroll on his table. He dared to look up again. Kamoto’s hands lay flat on the table, as if he was attempting to transfer all the weight on his shoulders to it. Kamoto looked weathered. Beaten.
“Is it unavoidable?” Yoritomo Kamoto asked. “Will our clan tear itself apart?”
“Not if we take action!” Tsuyu urged. His own voice was desperate now. “How long has Gusai claimed a title he has no right to? How long must we wait to remove him, my lord? We will follow where you command but we must know where we are going!” Kamoto turned slowly to face Tsuyu.
“What would you have me do, Tsuyu-san? Send Mantis against Mantis?”
“If that is what the pretender demands then we must not shirk our duty, Kamoto-sama!” Kamoto winced at the use of the honorific. Tsuyu stood, his eyes hard. “Gusai’s forces have sent us a message, my lord. Nothing will be sacred to them. They will fight us regardless of the costs. If we cannot answer in kind then we have already lost!”
For long moments, Kamoto held Tsuyu’s glare. His hand rested on his sword, as if he would cut down his second for his temerity, or perhaps for his honesty. “If we act.” Kamoto said carefully, “we must act sure of our victory. We must have more patience than Gusai. He will make a mistake. He will lose the support of the men, and then we will have won. You received this report from the Storm Legion, and every other daimyo in the clan has as well. The blame is clearly laid at our feet, but this will not convince many to change their positions. All this,” he said, picking the report up and holding it before him, “serves to do is make us question ourselves. I will not make the first strike in this war, Tsuyu-san.”
“Then others may do it for you,” the words dripped with venom, and Tsuyu knew they struck true.
