Half-Measures
Posted: Sat Jan 21, 2023 5:07 am
Naohiro emerged mid-stride from a tear in space, stepping out from between the folds of reality without so much as a slowing of his determined pace. Hard eyes scanned the exterior of the Mizukage’s tower, watching and weighing the staff, visitors, and guards as he entered. By now most of the general staff around the tower were at least passingly familiar with him, and only once—at the door to the recently re-staffed council chambers—did someone raise a hand to challenge his passage. The guard at the door hesitated, remembering his visit from a few hours earlier and knowing his rank, before glancing around and letting Naohiro through anyway. He even opened the door ahead of him and offered a nod of respect. Good man.
Naohiro took three strides into the room, waited for the door to close behind him and bowed, politely but not overly acquiescent, and held it while the chatter—or the arguing and scheming, at least—subsided as people slowly noticed his arrival. A portly man, Kawazaima Daizen, began walking over with a hand raised as if commanding an orchestra, but another voice cut across the room before the man could open his mouth.
“Report, shinobi.” Hirohito Junko stood at the head of a large conference table, towering over the ring of aides and sycophants gathered around her, and her voice was just as imposing as her stature. Tall and commanding, the newly-minted head of Naohiro’s parent house had a harsh reputation. Although her voice warranted no argument, the performance was sullied by a rumble of annoyed voices and frustrated glances passing around the room’s other occupants who were clearly unhappy with the woman’s attempt to take charge over them.
Naohiro noted the dissent, but, for now, did as he was asked. This time he did not so much as incline his head as he met the eyes of the self-styled councillors.
“I come directly from meeting with the Grand Shogun of the Heart Empire himself, who commands the armies now invading the shores of our great nation,” he announced clearly, speaking above the mumble of voices and bringing a temporary silence to the otherwise tumultuous chamber. All heads turned to listen. One or two showed open concern, but most simply appeared curious, if not dubious. “Those of you who know him understand that this is not a threat to take lightly, however recent his rise to power,” he levelled an icy look at another councillor, Shiimu Otome, who had the ignorance to give an amused scoff at his words. The audacity of the look turned the sound into a muffled gasp instead.
“Those who do not know him, know this: Iiyashi Fuhen is a passionate, resourceful, and capable leader. His goal, at least to begin with, is the complete subjugation—though he calls it ’liberation’—and conquest of the former lands of Tea Country, that we call Ocha Province. And he will wade through blood to achieve it. He is devoted, heart and soul, to the belief that he is a lesser evil than the Water Country citizens he intends to butcher in the name of a greater good. He preaches peace, and will wage any war necessary to realise it.”
The room fell into a quiet lull as he paused, assessing the gathered peoples. A powerfully built man, Karagata Ikko, sidled through to the front of the crowd wearing a disapproving frown. Sensing his mood and not wanting to wait out an argument between the onlookers, Naohiro quickly continued.“I have been issued with a list of his formal demands, though I suspect you all can guess as to the contents.” He reached into his jacket and pulled forth the envelope, holding it up for all to see, before dropping it onto the wide conference table in the middle of the chamber. He added a second set of papers, this time of his own writing, containing his full report including assessments of Heart Empire’s military potential—his best estimates of their troop numbers and locations, support staff and reinforcement potential, plus notes on the command staff he’d seen, their attitudes and likely strategies. As well as a few quick drawings and observations on the impressive airships he’d seen firsthand. Then he stepped back as the inevitable scuffle began, watching impassively as half the room surged forwards in an attempt to be the one who read and announced the terms and reports.
“The lesser of two evils, or the greater good. Get a good man to utter either of those phrases and there is no one more eager to begin perpetrating evil.” Naohiro muttered quietly, quoting an old line he’d read once as he thought about his meeting with the Shogun. It seemed fitting. And Naohiro himself had found some common ground with the man, too; much of Fuhen’s ideology was similar to his own. But the methods one took to achieve them mattered.
Muramasa Sōgen, a large man with an imposing bearing, won the race and soon began reading the terms aloud. Naohiro almost didn’t listen; they were exactly as expected: a lot of elaborate language and delicately worded assertions that Tea Country still existed in the hearts of its people, that Water Country should acknowledge it and offer their unconditional surrender of the peninsula, and so on. Sōgen delivered it verbatim and with none of the expected finesse. Ikko and Otome immediately began competing to make the most outraged sounds of offended nationalism, and Junko began hammering out her own interpretation right across the rising din.
“This is an ideological conflict at its core. The likelihood of this war staying contained to Ocha Province is…” Naohiro began again, but this time only some aides turned to listen. The other would-be councillors were already growing red-faced trying to talk over one another, echoed by attendants and scorned by those of their opponents. How the hell this rabble ever hoped to command the nation was beyond him. Sighing, and accepting their uselessness, Naohiro turned and departed. The message in the room was clear regardless: negotiation was useless, and it was war. Those vying for power in the sudden vacuum could argue the night away if they wanted. Meanwhile, he’d at least try to protect his nation.
An hour later, Naohiro paced across his private office at his home in the Aisu district of the village, no less frustrated than earlier. No news had come from the Mizukage’s tower, and his own aide attested that the manoeuvring and disputes within were still in full swing with no sign of an end. Although the village as a whole would still function under the guidance of the Mizukage’s general staff—Kasai would likely not have directly handed much of the day-to-day operations—it seemed now collectively paralyzed in the current situation without a commanding voice at the top.
Meanwhile, his own attempts to contact his peers in the village were not bearing fruit. In leiu of that real leadership in the village, he’d taken the initiative to pen some orders of his own under the official seal of the Head Hunter Division, and dispatched them by courier to various peers and shinobi of good renown across the village. As yet, none had provided an answer. Only one piece of news was so far heartening; the remarkable bannin and jinchuuriki Tsukino Nishiki had supposedly learned of the threat, and departed at once on his own iniative to oppose it. Good man. As to the rest of his peers, however, the silence was worrying.
Naohiro took three strides into the room, waited for the door to close behind him and bowed, politely but not overly acquiescent, and held it while the chatter—or the arguing and scheming, at least—subsided as people slowly noticed his arrival. A portly man, Kawazaima Daizen, began walking over with a hand raised as if commanding an orchestra, but another voice cut across the room before the man could open his mouth.
“Report, shinobi.” Hirohito Junko stood at the head of a large conference table, towering over the ring of aides and sycophants gathered around her, and her voice was just as imposing as her stature. Tall and commanding, the newly-minted head of Naohiro’s parent house had a harsh reputation. Although her voice warranted no argument, the performance was sullied by a rumble of annoyed voices and frustrated glances passing around the room’s other occupants who were clearly unhappy with the woman’s attempt to take charge over them.
Naohiro noted the dissent, but, for now, did as he was asked. This time he did not so much as incline his head as he met the eyes of the self-styled councillors.
“I come directly from meeting with the Grand Shogun of the Heart Empire himself, who commands the armies now invading the shores of our great nation,” he announced clearly, speaking above the mumble of voices and bringing a temporary silence to the otherwise tumultuous chamber. All heads turned to listen. One or two showed open concern, but most simply appeared curious, if not dubious. “Those of you who know him understand that this is not a threat to take lightly, however recent his rise to power,” he levelled an icy look at another councillor, Shiimu Otome, who had the ignorance to give an amused scoff at his words. The audacity of the look turned the sound into a muffled gasp instead.
“Those who do not know him, know this: Iiyashi Fuhen is a passionate, resourceful, and capable leader. His goal, at least to begin with, is the complete subjugation—though he calls it ’liberation’—and conquest of the former lands of Tea Country, that we call Ocha Province. And he will wade through blood to achieve it. He is devoted, heart and soul, to the belief that he is a lesser evil than the Water Country citizens he intends to butcher in the name of a greater good. He preaches peace, and will wage any war necessary to realise it.”
The room fell into a quiet lull as he paused, assessing the gathered peoples. A powerfully built man, Karagata Ikko, sidled through to the front of the crowd wearing a disapproving frown. Sensing his mood and not wanting to wait out an argument between the onlookers, Naohiro quickly continued.“I have been issued with a list of his formal demands, though I suspect you all can guess as to the contents.” He reached into his jacket and pulled forth the envelope, holding it up for all to see, before dropping it onto the wide conference table in the middle of the chamber. He added a second set of papers, this time of his own writing, containing his full report including assessments of Heart Empire’s military potential—his best estimates of their troop numbers and locations, support staff and reinforcement potential, plus notes on the command staff he’d seen, their attitudes and likely strategies. As well as a few quick drawings and observations on the impressive airships he’d seen firsthand. Then he stepped back as the inevitable scuffle began, watching impassively as half the room surged forwards in an attempt to be the one who read and announced the terms and reports.
“The lesser of two evils, or the greater good. Get a good man to utter either of those phrases and there is no one more eager to begin perpetrating evil.” Naohiro muttered quietly, quoting an old line he’d read once as he thought about his meeting with the Shogun. It seemed fitting. And Naohiro himself had found some common ground with the man, too; much of Fuhen’s ideology was similar to his own. But the methods one took to achieve them mattered.
Muramasa Sōgen, a large man with an imposing bearing, won the race and soon began reading the terms aloud. Naohiro almost didn’t listen; they were exactly as expected: a lot of elaborate language and delicately worded assertions that Tea Country still existed in the hearts of its people, that Water Country should acknowledge it and offer their unconditional surrender of the peninsula, and so on. Sōgen delivered it verbatim and with none of the expected finesse. Ikko and Otome immediately began competing to make the most outraged sounds of offended nationalism, and Junko began hammering out her own interpretation right across the rising din.
“This is an ideological conflict at its core. The likelihood of this war staying contained to Ocha Province is…” Naohiro began again, but this time only some aides turned to listen. The other would-be councillors were already growing red-faced trying to talk over one another, echoed by attendants and scorned by those of their opponents. How the hell this rabble ever hoped to command the nation was beyond him. Sighing, and accepting their uselessness, Naohiro turned and departed. The message in the room was clear regardless: negotiation was useless, and it was war. Those vying for power in the sudden vacuum could argue the night away if they wanted. Meanwhile, he’d at least try to protect his nation.
An hour later, Naohiro paced across his private office at his home in the Aisu district of the village, no less frustrated than earlier. No news had come from the Mizukage’s tower, and his own aide attested that the manoeuvring and disputes within were still in full swing with no sign of an end. Although the village as a whole would still function under the guidance of the Mizukage’s general staff—Kasai would likely not have directly handed much of the day-to-day operations—it seemed now collectively paralyzed in the current situation without a commanding voice at the top.
Meanwhile, his own attempts to contact his peers in the village were not bearing fruit. In leiu of that real leadership in the village, he’d taken the initiative to pen some orders of his own under the official seal of the Head Hunter Division, and dispatched them by courier to various peers and shinobi of good renown across the village. As yet, none had provided an answer. Only one piece of news was so far heartening; the remarkable bannin and jinchuuriki Tsukino Nishiki had supposedly learned of the threat, and departed at once on his own iniative to oppose it. Good man. As to the rest of his peers, however, the silence was worrying.