[center] [h1] [color=FFA500] Norio [/color] [/h1] [/center] 

The “older man” wasn’t an old man, even if he seemed as frail as an elder at this point in their journey. The main seemed frail and sickly; which was odd seeing how he’d been locked away alone in the darkness before Hisao and Hyōryū were thrown into a cell with them. He’d been oddly quiet at times; which was a stark contrast to their “introductions” earlier. When the two were first thrown into the cell, it seemed as if they were alone; until the shadowy figure crumpled in the corner of the room started to cry. 

[color=FFA500]”There’s been a mistake! Please, why am I in here!?’[/color] The pleas of mercy and the assertions that he was a simple farmer were grating enough. And it was a surprise that he’d kept pace with the others after their night run, even with his [i]walking stick[/i] keeping him balanced on the trail. There were two moments where adrenaline had taken over and the crying and whining from the man had stopped: the first was their escape and initial flee from their holding; there was no time to waste the air in one’s lungs if they were a hair’s breadth away from being cut down. The second time was now, as they approached Nezumi. He’d kept his pace in the back of the group, and he quietly studied the yakuzai symbols as they approached the gates. 

[color=FFA500]”S-surely there must be a better place to stay than this—this town of miscreants and criminals! We are as likely to be robbed of our robes and sandals as we are gutted like a boar here!”[/color] He whined and stammered, his voice cracking from a mixture of exhaustion and fear. [color=FFA500]”This is no place for a farmer or for these young maidens! If anything, you two-“[/color]Nakano Norio pointed at both Hisao and Hyōryū and then at the gates, [color=FFA500]”You two should gather supplies while we find a more suitable campsite. At least the forest won’t have secret entrances and panels for gangsters to creep in on us while we sleep.”[/color]

Saito Norio had never traveled to Nezumi. It was too far from Otonomasaki, and as the retainer to Lord Oshiro, he had to make sure his master never came close to such vile cities. Still, gangs were dangerous; bandits were no friend of the samurai; and even a fallen [i]ronin[/i] like Saito Norio could be a lovely prize for a bounty-or for the honor of beheading the last surviving member of the Saito Clan. His father had made a name for himself protecting a small village from bandits forty-odd years ago. That act of [i]bushido[/i] had elevated the minor noble to a respected bushi—and eventually became the retainer for the Oshiro clan. 

Smart bandits knew how to change. With new eras, bandits bought up property, began taking territory in towns. No longer simply raiding them, they became the political power in small rural areas where the magistrate’s reach wasn’t long enough. That’s how the age of the yakuza began. No longer needing to kill their victims, they instead could slowly bleed their profit from the people with intimidation and the promise of protection. They were scum. 

Nakano Norio’s hand seemed to grip the stick tighter as the group looked at him for the first time in a while. He knew the dangers of the forest; outside the walls, a group of headhunters could find them easy enough, tracking the light of a fire of the vision of smoke through the trees. Inside the walls there was protection from the imperial dogs, but they traded the danger of the Empire for the danger of the criminal element. The walking stick felt frail and weak, but he’d chosen it due to its curvature and thickness first. It wasn’t pine or fir; that wood was too soft and tactile. It was a thick limb of pine; something that if it came down to it; he could fashion into a simplistic club. If he had more time, maybe even a boken. But that would be too obvious; too dangerous to reveal who he was. These people were all criminals alongside him; that was true. But he did not trust their loyalty or honor yet.