Striding loosely into the gambling den, the tall Ronin surveyed his surroundings, his long, unwashed hair draping vine-like over his muscular shoulders and neck.
The quickly darting eyes belied the intelligence hidden behind his rugged features, as they focused on a table in the far corner, surrounded by rich, but shifty-looking, merchants. This was where money was being made… and lost.
The merchants eyed his daisho as he limberly approached, recognizing Kenji as a samurai, each hoping nervously that he was not the object of the large man's attention. To their surprise, the Ronin threw several silvers on the table and grabbed the dice.
Kenji could not remember a time when he didn't cheat at dice for a living. Granted, he could remember very little… well, actually nothing… that happened to him before last week. Still, he had all the trappings of a samurai, and a special talent for games of chance.
No one he had met had eevr seen him before. While initially puzzled by this fact, Kenji quickly learned to turn this to his advantage; if anything, an uncanny resourcefulness was the Ronin's greatest asset. Unfortunately, he had a perverse need to exceed the limits of his resourcefulness, particularly when it came to gambling. So far, his amazing talent with the sword had had to substitute for good luck and better judgement on more than one occasion.
Unfortunately for the merchants at this table, they had acquired a prejudice that is wide-spread in Rokugan: that samurai do not cheat. Walking away from the gambling house, Kenji could still hear the befuddled merchants cursing their ill luck. He didn't even try to suppress a chuckle.
With no family, home, daimyo, or holdings to speak of, Kenji had more time to contemplate his existence than is healthy for a man who is already cultivating several white hairs. Could he really come from nowhere? Is it possible that the void had simply deposited him in this Province, where no living being recognized him, or had even heard his name? He often imagined that he must be some important man from another place; perhaps a trick of the Fortunes. Or maybe he had been privy to information that was too sensitive to be remembered. Shugenja could cause a man to forget things, could they not? Whatever the reason might be, Kenji would not rest in the same bed for two nights until he found out, even if he had to chart every road in Rokugan…
Just ahead on this one, the Ronin saw two peasants sweating in the aftermath of a fire. Watching the way they worked, he noted the pride that they took in salvaging the best part of their farming tools, not quite overshadowing their grief at knowing the hardship that was to come with the loss of all the rest of their valuables.
"These are good people," he thought. "They put the food in our mouths. Not like those merchants, who make themselves fat by moving things from place to place."
Kenji strode confidently up to the two farmers. He looked in their eyes for any hint of recognition, but only saw himself reflected back through eyes of fear.
"I lose again," muttered the Ronin, tossing a bag of silver over his shoulder as he turned back to the road.