Fujiyama Manor

[Laertes Ursus]

Somehow tucked away from the construction and political battles of the rest of the Chiyoda district, this somewhat small but respectable house sits near the border of the district. It has been held for ten generations of Fujiyama, though obviously updated to keep up with the times. Passed from father to son upon the day of his marriage, Fujiyama Manor boasts immaculate gardens and security fit for the Emperor himself, though considerably more subtle than the Imperial Palace.

On the extreme exterior, ten-foot walls around the home are the first indication of defence, though these look relatively mundane plasticrete and a light coating of paint, on the Astral, several warnings are painted, warning would-be intruders that it is not the security of the Manor that should be feared, but its inhabitants. Indeed, anyone with a deep knowledge of Fujiyama history would likely be aware of the family's Samurai heritage, and could well theorize that the Kami of ancient warriors still reside. On the inside of the walls, Awakened ivy grows, ready to ensnare those that would disregard the first warnings.

Beyond the wrought-iron gates, a lovely series of gardens greets the welcome visitor, a long central pathway of perfectly-laid stepping stones on lush green grasses splitting the pond to either side, where lovely lotus blooms and many colourful koi thrive. Further in, some trees and a Zen garden reside.

The manor itself does not match the opulence of the gardens, looking somewhat bland by contrast. A modest two-story affair with a classical feel. The main decor is red with a silver and black trim, the colours of the family. A sharp eye would detect the cameras scattered about the grounds, including built into the trees and even one biodrone koi with them. An eye to the Astral would find patrolling Watcher kami lazily floating about, as though even spirits could be rendered complacent. That said, the Manor seemed somewhat lacking in manpower. Where were the Mages for these kami? Who was watching the cameras? Even the groundskeeper was rarely present.  

[Laertes Ursus]

Three hours ago, James Fujiyama was called to a meeting with a rather influential Takeshi-san. Two hours ago, he was dismissed with a job. One hour ago, he was praying at the family shrine, asking his ancestral kami to protect him on his coming journey.

Now, he was packing. Clothes, toiletries, and his business equipment... Twin Steyr TMPs were tucked away in vacuum-sealed bags, same with the various ammunition for them. Several other... less-than-legal items were packaged similarly, including several grenades, some special arrowheads, and others that could be seen as undesirable. Packaged together with a folded-up compound bow and several arrows and sealed in a very sturdy large steel case, James smiled. This would be on a separate flight to the same destination, a flight certainly not carrying passengers.

Finally, James' gaze fell on his signature equipment: A set of blackened samurai armour, its look streamlined and stylized. It was in remarkably good shape despite being five years old and worn often. The sizing was custom, and the crimson insignia it bore was that of a kitsune, a fox, though just the head. Slits of eyes stared outwards, the symbolism of the strength of cunning and grace daring one to challenge the resourceful modern Bushi.

Resting beneath, James' personal daisho. Though both blades were the same length, they were called the daisho regardless. Very visible hilts were polished and well-worked teeth of a dragon, still bearing the slight curve. Beneath the black lacquered wood saya lay the finest steel James' family could buy, and the Fujiyama clan were certainly wealthy. Veins of blood-red orichalcum interlaced across the weapon, drawing arcane patterns of deadly beauty. The sharpness of the blades was only matched by the finest monofilament. They were the only children he ever wanted to have, his pride, joy, and honour. He'd forged the blades himself, in the tradition of his family, and his Ojii-san had infused the orichalcum.

The teeth were a more recent addition, and James smiled as he remembered the day he'd earned those. It was six years ago, and he was fresh onto the Renraku Red Samurai. It was a hard job, but the prestige and honour afforded by the job had been more than worth the years upon years of training. He was stuck with a lot of grunt work, but had gotten to see a lot of different places and meet some interesting people. Among these was an Irishman who referred to himself simply as Priest. It was an odd thing, to be sure, but he'd thought little of it.

It was supposed to be a routine scouting of an area, but they had gone in a bit too far over their heads. A dragon was there, and saw the pair as interlopers, and a threat to be eliminated. His ancestors must have been watching him very closely that day, as he and the Priest fought for their lives against this beast set to kill them. Somehow, James had managed to slay the creature with his katana, though he had put so much power into the cut of his blade that as it hit the spine of the dragon, the wood part of the handle splintered and broke off. The strong steel full tang remained, but James' hand was a sorry mess.

As the pair gathered themselves together in disbelief, James extracted his sword from the corpse and Priest was gathering teeth and scales. James thought nothing of it until that night around beers. James' right hand was fixed up decently(It turned out Priest knew a thing or two about patching people up), but would be out of commission for at least a week. He also ended up with a cracked rib and a few small but harsh burns. That said, he was glad to be alive. Priest was the healthier of the two, just some bruises and bumps. He'd remained at a distance while the Samurai had moved in to strike.

After beer four, Priest took out a small bag and handed it to James. When he looked in and saw the teeth, he gave Priest a questioning look. "Didn't you take these for yourself, Priest-san?" he asked.

Priest had responded by shaking his head. "Considering what we ended up doing today, I figured we'd need trophies. I mean, how else would anyone believe us?" Indeed, James barely believed himself. "I'm sure you'll find something to do with these. You deserve 'em, kid. I don't know anyone that'd be ballsy enough to charge at a pissed-off dragon, and lucky enough to live through it."

That was quite the chapter in the Bushi's life, and one he revisited every day with the battle scars and new hilts he bore with pride. All the same, he wasn't exactly jumping to try his luck again.