Haruto & The Five Clans

Haruto walked slowly as the evening sun sunk behind his shoulders, his body weary from a day of traveling. He continued despite his desire for rest. Night was almost upon him, and he wanted to reach the city gates of Krathel before they closed. The land was thick with vegetation and evening dew was already clinging to the grass as he waded through it and then emerged onto the long path that led west. He looked back across the land and saw a long trail of travelers moving slowly, and then west towards where the city stood waiting for him on the cliff edge. Krathel was a coastal city, enabling it to profit greatly from the many vessels that frequented its harbour. He walked slowly and fell in amongst the caravan of pilgrims seeking a new life in the city or beyond, with many of them hoping to obtain passage in one of the ships or ferries. After a time, the sky shifted and grey clouds rolled out across the sky and rain began to beat down on the hoods and shoulders of the weary travelers as they approached the city gate, the muddy puddles coating their boots and legs with every step taken up the path. Normally, rain was a hindrance, yet with how fast it hammered down upon the world, striking the ground with a vengeance, it reduced the guards' ability to thoroughly inspect those that sought to enter through the gate as they rushed through. As such, they did not see a lone vagabond slip past their hindered gaze as he snuck into the city in search of answers, information and a route towards his destination. The crowd pushed past him as he stepped into the cobbled lane and paused, a grunt was dragged from his lips as a man collided with him and then continued forward with a look of annoyance on his face. He viewed the city from its lowest part and turned to inspect the gate behind him, a wooden door that would be wound shut from a mechanism hidden within the city wall. The guards beyond the boundary were standing with sour faces while rain soaked their tunics and drenched their moods. Despite the rain, Haruto could smell the sea air and wondered if it was something the locals became used to at a certain point of living here and began to climb up the hill that led to the center of the city. The city itself was not the grandest in the province, though there was wealth within the walls. That much was evident in the architecture of the buildings, and the materials used to make the houses he walked past. Yet there was also poverty, identified by the beggars who also had no opportunity to escape the torment of the weather. Soldiers and beggars, both beaten down and held under the thumb of the regime and the rain. “Please…please have mercy, have mercy, spare a coin! Spare any coin…please.” a weak voice cried out from the side of the road. Haruto looked to the side, between the houses there was a break in the structures and an alley filled with desperation. He ducked into it and between the rubbish lay a man on a mat with a tankard in his hand that rattled, his head hanging low, tucked against his chin. Drawing out his coin purse, Haruto pinched two copper coins and held them out over the man and, with a clunk, they fell into the tankard, and he couldn’t help but notice the long yellow nails that gripped the handle tightly or the black line of dirt underneath them. “Thank you, thank you kind stranger,” the weak voice said. The voice belonged to a man, young but frail, his body thin and his eyes entirely white, yet dark hair grew on his face, patchy and rough, and he raised his chin upwards to indicate his attention was held. Haruto observed him for a moment in silence and then asked, “Where can a traveler seek refuge and a place to stay in this city?” as he straightened up and returned his coin purse to his pack. “Public houses are all further in, beds and beer for those that can pay.” the young man answered wearily, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Are there any of good reputation?” Haruto asked. “Ha. You think I would know?” the beggar retorted, a sneer on his face as he gestured at himself. Haruto grunted and then turned away and left without another word. The man was silent for a few moments and then returned to rattling the tankard and repeating his earlier request, hoping that others would copy the kindness Haruto showed him. But as Haruto emerged back onto the main street, his hand pulling his hood down further over his face, he knew that another act of charity was unlikely, as no one even turned to glance at the alley, let alone the person residing inside it. The hill became steep while Haruto climbed it further, the cobbles under his boots slippery from the rain, and he took his time to reach the center of the town and then surveyed the buildings and made his way down a road to his right towards a building with a large ornate wooden sign hanging above the door that read The Green Boar. Krathel was built on a large hill that led up to the bay and then down into the cove, with a port built into the cove that had slowly been developed over the centuries until new architectural designs were built over the originals. Single-floored flat roofed houses at the bottom, while the higher up the hill, the more decorative and lavish the houses were. Golden sand adorned one strip of the cove, left of the port and with it caves that led into the very cliff Krathel was built on. The Green Boar displayed none of the city's wealth as Haruto stepped inside. The lighting was dim around the large room due to the candles in the brackets along the walls having been burnt low, the wax consumed through multiple evenings of usage. Smoke filled the air and his nose with the foul stench of pipe weed and the cacophony of noise provided a welcoming blanket to cover his entrance as most of the customers failed to notice him. He moved slowly across the room and arrived at the corner of a bar which was wet with foam and beer and rotten through at the ends. He pulled his hood down to reveal his face while he studied the wood with a blank expression. His dark hair was long, and hung over his face as drops of rain water ran down it and splashed onto his cheeks, stinging from the cold weather as he placed his hands on the bar. “Can I help you, sir?” A young woman asked, appearing before him. She was dressed in a plain brown dress, a white apron around her waist stained with grease, and she looked at him with a tired expression as she gripped the nearest faucet handle ready to pour whatever beer was inside. “Yes, I hope so, I am looking for a bed for the night. Do you have any rooms left available please?” he asked her. “Let me check with the owner,” she said, and quickly scurried across the bar and disappeared through a door. Haruto stood and waited in silence, smiling grimly and nodding curtly at the gentleman sitting nearest to him who raised his chin and his tankard at him and then drank from it. The girl soon reappeared and quickly refilled multiple cups and collected payments from the regular customers along the way before she returned to face Haruto, her cheeks flushed with colour from the heat of the room. “We have a room available. Breakfast can be provided if required. Is there any food or drink I can offer now?” She asked as Haruto dug into his pack and retrieved the same small leather drawstring purse from earlier. Her eyes darted down from his face to the bag as it rattled loudly, and he shook a collection of coins from it, earning the attention of the men sitting closest to him and then pulled the drawstrings tight and looked up from the bag to the barmaid and noticed how the men quickly looked away. “How much?” he asked simply, holding her gaze. “Three coppers for hot food, one for a full tankard. Ten silvers for the night.” He nodded and quickly counted out the coins, then held his hand out and deposited the fee into her hand and watched as she rotated to face away and dropped the coins into the till and then closed the drawer and got to work, pouring him a pint of amber coloured beer and placed it on the counter in front of him before she disappeared once again into the back room and then returned with a plate of hot meat, pale potatoes and vegetables. Haruto thanked her and then looked at the food for a moment in silence and then retrieved the cutlery from the side of his plate and ate. The meal was not great, the meat gritty and the potatoes bland, but it was warm and fresh, and he was thankful for that as he finished it quickly and placed the copper utensils back onto the plate and took a long sip of his beer. With that, it seemed the surrounding regulars took it as a sign to engage and soon the man closest to him cleared his throat and spoke up. “Where are you traveling from then, friend?” “From the East, I have traveled many leagues in search of a man I hope to find here in this fine city,” Haruto answered. “First time in Krathel, If you’re staying here, brave of you to share a mattress with the bugs in this building,” another man added in, his voice slurred, and his features tanned, as his eyes gazed at Haruto. “My first time in many years, although I admit, gentlemen, I haven’t had the pleasure of proving my bravery, as you say, by staying at an establishment such as this,” Haruto said and turned to face the men. Whilst he did so, he watched as their eyes flicked first up and then down, taking him in, and he noticed how they shuffled in their seats when their gazes fell upon the handles of his blades. First their gaze flicked up to the large red and gold handle visible over his right shoulder, pointing out diagonally from between his back and his pack, while the length of the sword was sheathed and hidden. He watched their gaze flick across and down to his left where the end poked out from beside his cloak. He opened his arms broadly and with it pushed his cloak out and away and again followed the gaze of the two men as they studied his apparel. His black shirt was soaked through and clung to his body, a belt held his black traveling trousers in place and around his waist another belt was visible with two Pommels pointing out from the twin daggers that hung from his belt. He smirked, satisfied at their reaction and then wiped his cloak back around himself and sat at the empty seat he had ignored earlier and raised his mug to the two gentlemen. “To a night in Krathel.” He cheered and then clunked his copper mug against theirs and drank a large sip along with them before wiping his mouth. They cheered with him and drank from their own mugs and then placed them back on the bar, now empty. Haruto motioned to the barmaid “Another round here for these good men if you please,” he said, earning thanks and nods of appreciation. “You say you seek a man here in the city. For what business does a stranger appear in our city armed so dangerously to seek a single man?” The closest man asked, his gaze now wary as he looked at Haruto. “I am armed, aye. Yet I have no plan to spill blood here tonight. The man I am seeking is an old friend and I will seek his aid. Nothing further to worry yourself over good man,” Haruto said as the barmaid placed three new mugs down before them. “Hmpff.” Said the other man as he picked up his new pint and drank slowly, “so say you, yet how can a stranger's word be taken true when he does not share his name?” Haruto smiled thinly, “if you sought my name you need only ask, my name is Danjou, and what would yours be?” He asked, his countenance unchanged as he gazed at the men. “I am Halid, son of Halif.” the first man said, raising his mug to Haruto. “Joath, son of Joath.” the second man answered, now seemingly more relaxed. “Well met, have you both always lived here in Krathel?” Haruto asked, taking a small sip and quickly hiding a grimace. “Aye. I grew up learning how to tie knots and provide food and coin for my family since I was a young boy out on the boats. Most men you will find in this city are either sailors or fishermen. The call to the sea flows deep in our blood,” Halid said, earning an enthusiastic nod of agreement from Joath. “And what of the city lord? Does he herald from Krathel?” Haruto asked, earning scowls and growls from the two men. “No,” answered Joath quickly, beer spilling out of his mug. “Lord Marthall was appointed to the position of mayor by Lord Defthand only this last year,” he explained bitterly. “Defthand?” Haruto asked, his voice steady as he watched the two men. “Aye, Defthand, he appointed him not long after news of the insurrection spread,” Halid answered. “And is this Lord Marthall just?” Haruto asked, his voice low. Halid and Joath exchanged a nervous glance, and Haruto watched as fingers twitched on the handles of mugs as grim expressions were drawn on the men before him. Yet before either could answer, a man from across the bar spoke up his voice loud and condescending. “Lord Marthall is just towards those that serve him and delivers charges to those that deserve it. You ask strange questions, stranger. One might not take too well to a man wearing strange weapons and foreign garments asking about our Lord,” he said, his gaze narrow and his nose long as he stared down its length at Haruto. Joath turned and spat on the floor as he glared at the man who interjected. “Are your brains full of rotten fish eggs that you would speak so blindly, Darad?” he asked, his voice rising. Darad clucked his teeth and scowled at Joath as he walked towards them, his stature tall and shoulders broad, muscles earned from years of manual work on display as he stopped before them. “You speak before you think, Joath, what would you prefer? That our city be left in the foolish hands of Lord Batteo? He would have let this city bleed dry before admitting fault. Since Marthell was appointed, we have seen trade return and wealth flow into the city like the tide on the beach,” Darad said, holding their gaze as if waiting to be challenged. “I do not care about your preference of Lord. I was simply curious about the nature of the governing of the city,” Haruto said, trying to appease the man who stood before him. “So you say, yet you seek a man but do not produce a name and then ask about this city's lord while armed with such blades. I wonder what news from the east you bring with you, and if the Oaks have not sent a spy or assassin to slip into our city this very night,” Darad said, causing Halid and Joath to turn back to Haruto and stare at him again this time with trepidation. “Aye, they could have, and maybe they will, although such an action would no doubt lead to a clan war.” Haruto answered slowly watching the men draw back and regarded him with newfound caution, and in Darad’s case disdain. “If that is your confession, it is a poor one,” Darad said, finishing his drink and placing the empty copper mug on the bar between Haruto and Halid. “If I were an assassin, surely I would already know the landscape of the administrative system and need not inquire about who runs this city. Furthermore, I have traveled from the east, yes, but I never stated I am from the Oakenushi clan,” Haruto said coolly, holding Darad’s gaze. “No, and yet still you choose not to state your clan or show its markings to put our minds at ease.” Darad pushed, rotating his right arm to display the inside of his forearm and a large tattoo of a blue triangle with a trident in the middle, the clan symbol of the Soujin. Haruto gazed at the symbol, his eyes fixed on it for a second before he let his gaze drift up to Darad’s and there it remained as he held the man’s gaze, unwilling to back down or give him the satisfaction of yielding to his demands or his claim. “Speak man, state your clan or show your markings.” Darad spat. “And if I refuse to show you any sign of where I am from?” Haruto asked calmly, finishing his drink and placing it on the bar next to Darad’s empty mug as Halid and Joath shared uneasy glances with one another. “Then I may have to encourage you to loosen your tongue, seeing as the beer is not working,” Darad said, pulling a large hooked blade from the leather belt at his waist which held an assortment of knives. Haruto viewed the blade and the man that held it and remained impassive, and then pulled back his cloak to reveal the various weapons on his personage as his left hand rested on the handle of one of the daggers and began to pull back, unsheathing the blade. The steel sang as he flicked his wrist and held the weapon out before the group of men and suddenly the bar began to fall silent as he twirled the dagger effortlessly and then gripped it again and held it out before him horizontally. Darad quivered at the sight of it, the pommel adorned with red and black lacquer and the blade thin and sharp, a deep shade of red that looked ominous. Haruto flicked his gaze down to the blade and viewed the reflection to observe the surroundings behind him and then cast his gaze around the large room, noting how all the customers were now gazing at his interaction with Darad. “What is that blade?” Darad asked, his voice a ghostly whisper of its previous volume. “An heirloom of my clan and my family,” he answered simply, “Is that satisfactory or do you insist on finding out how easily it will cut through your work tool and your bones?” Haruto asked, his eyes hard and his tone sharp. Darad blanched and looked around the room at the faces all watching him for his reaction, faces he had known for years, some he had worked with closely on various boats. A bead of sweat ran down his brow as his grip slipped on the handle of his blade and his muscles sagged as he beheld Haruto and saw before him a warrior who could kill him in an instant. His breath blew out as he bowed his head and lowered his weapon. With his threat retracted, the bar slowly began to return to its previous volume, a loud raucous sound that enabled Haruto privacy as the folk of the Green Boar chose to give him an agreed unspoken respect and ignored him to do as he pleased. He twirled the blade once more and slid it into the sheath, the soft clink of the hilt hitting the edge of the ivory sheath, almost undetectable apart from the three men who remained close to him, their breath held along with their questions on the tip of their tongues. “Who are you?” Darad finally asked, looking at Haruto with new-found fear as Haruto gazed at him with a look that made the taller man shake. “No one of your concern. I did not travel across the entire width of this country to be stopped in my quest by you,” Haruto said as he nodded at the barmaid, and she quickly began to work on producing four new pints. She placed them on the bar before Haruto and he slid two across to Halid and Joath and then picked up the remaining two and held one out to Darad who viewed it as if it were poisoned and then slowly accepted. “I admire your loyalty to your Lord and to your Governor. Men of valour are hard to come by in these times, Darad, you carry yourself well,” Haruto said and watched as the man looked away, nodding slowly. “What is the name of your acquaintance? The person you are looking for,” Joath said, speaking up as he cleared his throat. Haruto took a large sip and turned to look at Joath. “Tanzou, Tanzou Mashiro.” At his name, the men nodded again in understanding. “The shipping merchant?” Halid asked, surprised. “I do not know what business he conducts these days. It has been many months since we have last been in contact,” Haruto answered as he turned his attention to the tanned man. “Do you know where he is located?” “I don’t know where he lays his head, but his office would be in the same building as all the others, down in the docks on the far side of the port, on the other side of the city,” Halid explained. “Will he be there tomorrow?” Haruto asked, swinging his pack around again to retrieve his coin purse once more. “I know not, for most of the boats will have already left the harbour by the time the sun rises, but if he is who you seek, then the port is the best place to start,” Halid concluded. Haruto nodded as he slipped his finger and thumb into his coin pouch and retrieved one gold coin. Summoning the barmaid over, he handed it to her, ordered a round of their finest mead for the three gentlemen and bid them goodnight. The stairs were crooked, and the corridor was narrow, and the key caught in the lock to the room he had rented. Once inside, he made certain that it was locked once more, the key was left in the lock, the room smelt of damp and one glance at the bed revealed that the hay that stuffed the mattress was definitely infested, yet it would suffice for the night. He placed his pack down on the small desk shoved into the corner and sat on the stool as he removed his blades, careful to unwrap the belt from his waist and placed the two daggers on the side and then the long sword, its crimson sheath glittering in the faint light of the room. He unbuckled his cloak and shrugged it off and then unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up, revealing a row of scars on his left arm and a damp bandage on the other. He glanced up at the door once more and then untied the bandage and looked down at the inside of his forearm. There in the center was a single tattoo of a small red square and within it a yellow orb half hidden by clouds and a scar horizontally across the middle of it.