[center][h3]Fuchigami Momoko[/h3][/center]

In an unfamiliar place, a warrior stood out because of his potential threat.  Even in a locale visited by hungry bandit troops, frequented by swaggering pirates, and patrolled by zealous samurai watchmen, a new face that came bearing new arms seldom failed to catch the eye of the cautious or the opportunistic.  As she approached the docks, where she'd determined that the Crescent Moon Manor resided, Momoko spotted a few such individuals drawing glances from the citizens.  Yet, when she drew near, the attention of the crowds invariably passed to her.  

By now Momoko neither acknowledged or cared about the affronted looks of shock and intrigue that sailed her way.  Long ago she'd decided how to present herself, and to say her decision came about for the sake of her work, while not wrong, would not even be half the truth.  She dressed in this wildly improper manner, which not even the sultry shogi women employed, specifically to set herself apart.  Everywhere she went her appearance was seared into the minds of her onlookers.  Later, through questioning and rumor, they would learn she was a mystic of a vanished, erudite order, or something to that effect.  What they thought of her did not matter—only that when something went bump in the night, they knew who to send for.  At the very least, she felt a bit of elation that a few of the Odikawans, whispering a furtive three-syllable word that the priestess recognized as her name, seemed to recognize her.  Hopefully the fact that her reputation had preceded her to this shaded port town meant that her future would be a bit brighter.  [i]I'll drink to that thought.[/i]  And she did.

When Momoko spotted patrolmen surrounding the manor, she knew that she came to the right place.  By the time she arrived, the townfolk knew that the officials surrounding the manner would permit no approach, so Momoko peeled away from the crowd and approached with no obstacles.  Her face grew surly as she recognized the coat of arms adorning the samurai flanking the manor's main entrance.  [i]Lotus.  Warmongers, fiends, murderers, tricksters.  Wonder if these ones fought in the war...how much blood they wiped from their blades.[/i]  Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she drew nearer.  She presented the letter, still clutched in her hand, and with a gruff, “You're late” the guards permitted her to enter.

Before she could get four steps in she found herself accosted by more security.  She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, only to blanch when they asked her to hand over her enchanted items.  “Uh...”  The urge to leave rushed over her like a tidal wave.  Part with her basin and pipe?  She'd be defenseless, and worse, wine-less.  But could she really back out now, and pass up the funds promised to her?  Now that she thought about it, this entire venture reeked of a trap.  [i]Use money to trick me into going somewhere...strip me of my things...these next few minutes could very well be my last.  Must have been drunk when I accepted this deal.[/i]  “Heh,” she murmured, amused at the thought.  Her eyes passed over a set of nearby weapon racks, their pegs and slots filled with all manner of equipment.  [i]At least I'm not the only one.[/i]  Hopefully, that meant that there were others in this boat with her—others who might be convinced to protect her should things go sour.  [i]Too late to back out now anyway, now that I'm inside.[/i]  With reluctance she produced her pipe, then with a glance of pained longing, forked over the basin.  Feeling uncomfortably like she was leaving a part of her behind, Momoko allowed herself to be led into the manor's interior.

Upon entering the exquisite main chamber, she clicked her tongue in annoyance.  “Whoops.  Guess I'm pretty late.”  Five other distinct individuals preceded her, none of whom she happened to know, though this did not surprise her.  A well-built, dignified elder clad in green...a gorgeous woman in black, of whom Momoko was instantly a little jealous...a scarred soldier bearing the traditional chonmage topknot alongside a less-traditional goatee...a rather normal woman in red...and a large, formidable man with only armor over his torso.  The wildness of his hair and face suggested a bold, free-wheeling nature, one who did not bother with society's propriety.  Momoko's eyes remained on that last man a little longer than the rest, prompting her guide to request that she join the others at the table.  Not responding to the servant woman, the priestess obliged, sauntering over and plopping down upon a cushion at the table.  Without even ten seconds' wait she raised her hand to signal the servant.  “Sake, please!  And mochi or senbei, if you have it.”  She leaned forward and put her elbow onto the table, resting her head in the same arm's hand.  Smiling, and with eyes half-lidded, she told the others, “I haven't eaten,” as if it were something to be proud of, or as if any of them would care.