"Akiu, I how goes your training?" Akiu's lord said from atop his throne.
"It goes very well my lord," Akiu said while he knelt down low.
"Good. I have a mission for you now. Take these," he raised a scroll satchel in front of Akiu, "And give them to those whom they are addressed to."
Akiu accepted the scrolls, never raising his head, "May I assume this means that you are calling the tournament?" Akiu asked.
"Of course. Now hurry."
Akiu walked along the road, a rain cloak wrapped around his shoulders in case he needed it. He was of fairly average size for a samurai, he wore a nice enough kimono and a pair of hakama to make movement easy. The only clothing of any real worth he owned was the long haori he drapped over his shoulders, a gift from his master, it was weaved so that its pattern seemed different from any angle. Akiu's hair was short and wildly stuck out in all directions from lack of care. His eyes were a redish hazel and had a certain deadness to them that made it difficult for most men to meet his gaze. The katana on each hip generally persuaded any who met his gaze.
He had a list of fourteen names, all skilled warriors of one form or another. He recognized a few; The infamous kolat assassin known as The Oni-Kumo, the fearless ronin Tatakai, and most interestingly three members of an Imperial task force he had encountered, twice. Akiu smiled, it promised be an interesting tournament.
Bishamon Seido, 7 years ago...
Two men glared at each other from across the field, yari leveled at each other. The younger of the two growled and rushed forward. The older man calmly moved into a defensive pose, raising the yari to block the strike. The younger man smirked and threw himself into his strike driving the yari through his opponent's weapon and chest. "I told you old man, you are too weak," the young man said wrenching his yari loose.
The older man fell to his knees clutching his chest. "Tatakai, why did you do this to your own father?"
"To prove once and for all that I have surpassed you. Though from the looks of the monks, they are less than impressed. I've had enough of fighting the weaklings here. I'm leaving, if Bishamon had wanted me to spend all my life in a shrine he should have seen to it I was a monk," Tatakai turned and left.
"So Kaiji, I see your son has defeated you," an old monk said as he came over to dress Kaiji's wound, "Quite soundly I see." Kaiji grunted. "Don't feel so bad, Tatakai is the closest our brotherhood has come in four generations to a perfect warrior. We need to find him a worthy wife, a Matsu or a Hida. Perhaps an Utaku, now that would be a prize wouldn't it?"
"He's leaving. He said there were nothing but weaklings here," Kaiji said sadly.
"Hmm, well we must merely hope he tires of the outside world, yes?" the old monk said with a smile, "So, what do you think?"
"About what?" Kaiji asked.
"Your son's future spouse, a Matsu or an Utaku?" the monk said with a smile.