Humble Beginnings...

The City of Thuran, circa 3,458

The sages said the year was numbered three thousand four hundred and fifty eight, but the peoples of Thuran called it 'The Year of Stone'.  The city hummed with industry as the Stone Festival was prepared for, vendors in their stalls calling out their wares to passerbys, carts wagons and pedestrians jockeying for space on the cobbled streets.  The smell of spiced wine, roast pheasant and ritual incense pervaded the city, barely covering the underlying rank scent that marked all modern cities.  Children wound their way through frustrated adults legs and chased the odd mongrel dog, beggars held their bowls aloft from their piteous corners of the street.

In short, it was just like every other day in town, excepting that this day would mark the beginning of the end.  The end of my innocence and the way that things had used to be.  I think back now and try to keep the image of the city as I used to know it in mind, but it get's harder with every passing year, like a  pleasant dream slipping through ones fingers after waking to the cold harshness of reality.  Perhaps too much blood has been spilled since then.  Perhaps not enough.

I pulled at my loose tunic and undid the top leather lacing in a vain attempt to cool off some.  The late summer heat was oppressive deep in the city, the dust thrown up by the passing carts settling on the sweat and refusing to leave.  I quirked a grin as I caught the eye of a passing flower vendor, the girl had to be all of sixteen, but she had curves to admire.  I let the smile in my eye reach my lips as I nodded in passing.  Tempted as I was to stop and dally with her, perhaps purchase a few of her wares and sample the taste of her lips, I had an appointment to keep.  Specifically my father, the venerable and honorable Hanzo Tenzen would not approve of tardiness after all.  And by not approve I mean whip our backsides within an inch of our lives.  Still, father was a good man, and I shared a passion for the black powder and the use of firearms with him that none other in family enjoyed.  It gave us a special bond, but I did not fool myself into thinking I was above his rules, not for a second.

Mikisai Tenzen...

My brother Mikisai scowled next to me and muttered, "Hurry Tetsuo.  We've no time for your foolishness at present."  His long black hair covered most of his face and hung in his eyes.  It's not that he was unattractive per se, we both shared the same mother with her alien elven beauty, it was simply that he radiated pissy negative energy most of the time.  As if reading my thoughts, he huffed and pushed through the crowd without looking back, expecting me to follow.

Which, of course, I did.  Being the youngest of three brothers meant a constant battle for respect, and the fact that I liked to play the the lute and shamisen and sing in my spare time did not help matters in the slightest, nor my apparent good fortune when it came to members of the opposite sex.  Still, he had a point, and I hurried to catch up.

The Tenzen Crafthouse sat in the heart of the Merchant's District, near a cooper, a farrier, and a small counting house.  It wasn't large by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was it small.  It had a small forge and workshop on one side of it's small walled courtyard, that you could just see from the street through it's traditional circular entrance in the low wall.  Well, traditional for the land of my father, far across the Endless Sea to the East.  Still, a quite respectable dwelling and place of business, as is befitting a family of our stature.  My father and mother had arrived in this town some thirty years ago or so, fleeing from the disaster that slew my mother's original husband, and my half-brother Belaron's father.

Speaking of my half brother, I saw him now as I followed Mikisai into the inner courtyard of the Crafthouse.  He stood upon the steps of the house, travel clothes still dusty from his recent return to the city.  His long golden hair was pulled back from his face, his curved tapered ears clearly visible.  As a full elf, he was older than Mikisai and I put together, but looked to be about the same age.  He wore subdued garb, practical in nature, and had his father's elegant curved elven blade strapped to his back, as always.

"A moment longer, and you would have been late" he said, his voice pitched low so it wouldn't carry.

Mikisai scowled at him and then shrugged, hitching his finger over his shoulder to indicate me, as if it was somehow my fault, of all things!  Belaron's gaze flicked from Mikisai to me, and I felt him sizing me up.  He had been on the road for almost over half a year this time, hired on as mercenary protection for one of the larger caravans doing trade with the neighboring kingdom of Versai.  I'd never admit it to his face, but I was envious of my older brother and his adventures.  He had seen so many places I had only read about or heard tale of in a song.  His eyes flicked to the katana I wore at my side, a twin to that of Mikisai's, and the pistol worn on the opposite hip, a weapon entirely my own.  He grunted in acknowledgment that I had grown up a bit in his all too frequent absence, and then turned just in time as father walked out from the workshop.

Father, the honorable Hanzo Tenzen

 Hanzo Tenzen stood a little over five foot eight, but his proud frame had become bent by age over the years.  His hair was shock white, and ran to his waist, much like his beard.  There was nothing wrong with his wits though, and he shrewdly took in his three sons before him, the natural and adopted ones both.

When he spoke, his voice held iron in it, and still was strong with life and energy.  "Children, now grown to manhood.  I have a task for you."  Seeing Belaron's frown at the statement, Hanzo raised an eyebrow and addressed him as well, "Yes, you too Belaron.  We may be almost of an age, but I still count you my son.  It was your father's dying wish, and I would not do disservice to my old friend's memory to do anything less."


Seemingly mollified, Belaron nodded back.  Father turned back to the three of us as a whole and continued, "I have a package that needs delivering, and I have three strong young men who need something to do.  I believe I have found a solution to both of these problems."    We all groaned.  Father always spoke in ways such as this, seeming to turn ordinary chores into some kind of epic parable or lesson from the great stories of the ancients.  As much as it annoyed me, I have to admit it also set me on the path towards learning all of those ancient stories, and attempting to recite them as often as not.

Father pulled forth two bundles, one clearly three swords in their sheaths, wrapped in protective cloth to keep them pristine, the other bundle a medium sized box far heavier than it looked.  "I need you to take these to The Golden Flower.  I believe you are familiar with the owner, Geniven?"


So much for my plans for the day...