Secrets of the Sūhai

Discovery, Exploration

The morning's tournament fights were over, yet the sun was only halfway to its zenith. As the event grew closer and closer to its finals, the fewer heroes were participating, and therefore each batch of matches took less time overall. It was up to the visitors, then, how to spend the rest of the morning. Many opted to remain in Shimonoseki and enjoy the Mōri Clan's hospitality. Others pursued business elsewhere in the land.   Recent victor Fubuki would do neither of these. Not exactly. Instead, the cold-eyed oni approached Mōri Motonari in her clan box. The Daimyō's wife, Kikkawa no Myōkyū, was with her as usual, and did not miss Fubuki's approach. Both gave their congratulations to the victor. That match had indeed been a spectacle, with both Fubuki and Randi Carter growing to giants and engaging in a battle of colossi for all to enjoy.

The logic behind Randi's transformation was obvious. At least, to someone schooled in matters of the occult. Fubuki's embiggening, however, did not seem to have any obvious spell behind it. Myōkyū, as a bit of a mage herself, put this to voice and asked the other how she'd* managed it. In response, Fubuki stated that it was part of a power she'd* picked up along with a curse. As if to display, the cold-eyed oni took off her* mask and was rendered, suddenly, mute. Further, she* began to poke the side of her* head, eyes changing color with each successive prod.   This performance delighted Myōkyū, but Mōri Motonari herself seemed less amused. Instead, there was a certain sense of judging, or measurement, behind those steady eyes. The specifics of her* powers aside, Fubuki had actually come here to ask a question. With mask back in place, the pseudo-oni asked whether there was anywhere Motonari could recommend for training. Fubuki's next match was against Honda Tadakatsu, after all. A legendary opponent.   Motonari did not answer right away. Instead, she asked whether Fubuki had the gift she'd* been granted earlier, in honor of her contributions to the safety of the tournament. The Hannya Vizard. Indeed, Fubuki still had it, although she* possessed yet little idea of what the artifact's purpose was. It seemed, to the arcane eye, to have something to do with illusion magic. Beyond that, however, details were harder to make out. Motonari was not about to help in this respect. The Daimyō only said to wear the mask and proceed beneath the arena when ready. Further directions did not seem forthcoming, so Fubuki merely thanked the other and returned to her* seat.   As she* prepared to venture below the arena's stone walls, Fubuki had but one regret. Randi Carter, with whom she* had fought not long ago, was still unconscious. The Black Blade had wished to trade a few words after their like exchange of blows, but it seemed that would have to wait. A quick word from Aka no Kitsunebi, however, reminded Fubuki that she* was not powerless in this regard. Even a mite of ki healing was enough to rouse the Dreamer from her slumber.   As it turned out, Randi took her loss quite well in stride. Being a sore loser didn't seem to be in her nature. Rather, the little maverick was just pleased to have made it this far. She was more than pleased to answer Fubuki's questions about the Dreamlands. First of these was who controlled passage through the Japan-Dreamlands rift. The Caelestis Collegium, Randi answered. They were a group based in Dylath-Leen also made up of powerful Dreamers. Unlike the Dreamers of Celephaïs, however, those of the Collegium held far fewer scruples. They would let anyone into the port, even Fubuki if she* so chose. That, indeed, was part of the problem. Many forces existed in the Dreamlands that it was not wise to peddle with.   In thanks, Fubuki told a tale of The Sunken City, much to Randi's delight. The maverick Dreamer had wanted to visit those ruins beneath the Dreamsea for many years, but had not found any other souls brave enough or capable enough to join her. Fubuki offered that they might go together sometime, to which Randi heartily agreed. They promised to seek each other out next time Fubuki was Dreaming, then parted on friendly terms.   That left only the matter of Hisashi Juju. The intrepid Kyūso merchant had more or less joined Fubuki's loose organization as part of a debt repaid and an investment to be multiplied. To say that Juju was excited to work on a flying casino ship was an understatement. While Fubuki descended below, her* attendants Aka no Kitsunebi and Taira no Tokuko promised to take their newest acquaintance to the Matsumoto Black Galleon and get her settled.   With those all settled and her* blades still free from further mochi attacks, Fubuki was now free to take Mōri Motonari's advice and descend beneath the arena. The Daimyō had been a bit cryptic in her instructions. Fubuki had to guess that she'd* figure it out when she got there. Slipping the Hannya Vizard over her* features, everything focused into slightly sharper contrast than before. Beyond that, nothing seemed to happen. As Fubuki took the wooden stairs down into the stone passage below, she* felt a pair of eyes watching her go. That pale, ethereal oni who always seemed to accompany Motonari had taken an interest. Watanabe Hajime, Fubuki recalled that her name was. Was she connected with the Hannya priestesses in some way?   Upon arriving in the corridor below, Fubuki took a look around. This was part of the route leading into the tournament stands, and so she* had traversed it many times before. On all those other times, however, the passage had ended at a solid stone wall on the eastern side. With the mask over her* eyes, Fubuki could now see a tunnel continuing on from where that wall should be. Walking through it offered no resistance, and so the Black Blade proceeded inward on a slight descending slope.   The stonework here seemed older, rougher than that above. A spiral staircase took Fubuki down what seemed like almost a kilometer of hewn tunnels. At its end, a great stone door was the only exit. Here, Fubuki was not alone. A pair of white-veiled priestesses, just like those whom had carried away dead bodies from each fatal match, stood flanking the portal. It seemed as though they were going to challenge this new visitor, but one look at Fubuki's white-horned mask was all that was required. They wordlessly opened the door and gestured to enter.   Within, Fubuki beheld a curious sight. Symmetrical lines of cushions had been laid out on the floor of this long, stone hall. Upon each sat a white-masked oni, head bowed in contemplative meditation. At their backs, spaced to regular intervals, a number of corridors twisted away to other parts of this holy complex. What truly drew the eye, however, was the door. At the very end of the hall, it dwarfed the large portal Fubuki had just passed through. Six large, white jewels studded its surface in a circular pattern. Whatever lay beyond this stone gate, it did not look designed to open easily or often.   As she* padded through the seated ascetics, Fubuki wondered if she* was expected to join them. There were certainly a few empty cushions scattered amongst those meditating. As she* glanced around, an unusual pair caught Fubuki's eye. That bizarre yellow coat and twisted mask under a mop of black hair; she* had seen them before. This Unnatural Oni had been at the tournament in times past, and had indeed led Maxim on a merry chase through these very catacombs. Next to this spectacle sat a man who stood out for very different reasons.   Fubuki had met enough supernatural entities by now to recognize how they carried themselves. This man's face was young, with a boyish prettiness to its angles, but the Black Blade could tell that he was far more ancient than that. If his presence were not enough of a hint, the man's six arms, held out in a medley of meditative poses, confirmed Fubuki's suspicions. This was not an ordinary monk, nor an oni, but something different. Among all those here, he was the only one not wearing a mask.   As Fubuki watched, the unnatural oni fidgeted his lanky form upon the cushion. Immediately, one of the six-armed monk's limbs snapped out and slapped the boy on the back of his head. With an admonition to focus, the man's still-closed eyes then turned to Fubuki. He observed that she* appeared lost, which was, to an extent, quite true. The curious-eyed oni explained that she'd* been directed here to train. To that, the monk extended two arms at once. One pointed to an empty cushion on the ground. The other, to a corridor close to Fubuki's back. She* could meditate here if she* wished, he explained, or proceed down the tunnel for a more martial experience.   With a word of thanks, Fubuki chose the latter option. She* was glad, perhaps, to leave that eerily-quiet room with its rows of silent masked forms behind. This passageway, however, presented its own challenges. While the stone corridor was wide at its arched entrance, the further Fubuki delved, the narrower it became. A few Hannya masks dotting the walls soon turned into a forest of white horns. If not for her* ability to change size, Fubuki might have been hard-pressed to weave through the cramped space. Without warning, she* found its end. At its narrowest point, the tunnel suddenly widened again into a great domed room.   This was certainly, obviously, a space for martial training. Great, ten-foot-tall statues battled masked combatants in armed and unarmed combat alike. The golems had what appeared to be a head of the usual proportions, Hannya mask set upon its craggy features. Behind that, the body was an exaggeration of musculature. Great arms pounded the ground and swung in furious sweeps at the masked trainees. Simulacra though they may be, Fubuki sensed real danger here.   The only question was: how to begin? As if in answer, a particular masked challenger seemed to notice the newcomer and peeled himself away from the ongoing fracas. Though tall, with his head covered by a wide shade, Fubuki could tell that this was a Human. The man welcomed her* and, without so much as an introduction, offered to guide Fubuki in her* training. This was more or less what the Black Blade had been looking for, so she* agreed. Rather than throw a blow, however, the shaded monk began a lecture.   The teachings of Rinzai, he explained, state that a warrior must look within themselves to find their greatest weaknesses in order to improve. What, then, would Fubuki's greatest vulnerability be?   That was indeed a puzzler. Fubuki took her* time in considering the question. Eventually, the Black Blade answered that she* acted too often rashly, and relied far too much on the arcane in battle. That seemed to be the correct answer. The shaded monk nodded in satisfaction and offered that clear insight of the self was the truest route to power. On this, he and the Hannya Sūhai fully agreed, which was why he was allowed access to this sacred place.   They would train, then, together in a certain manner. Fubuki was not to use her* magic, and should think each action through carefully. The monk would join her*. Perhaps, through this deliberate training, both of them might learn something. Fubuki nodded in agreement. She* was ready to begin.