Tomoe Gozen

"Sit down. Have some tea. Forget your worries and lend me your ear. Let me tell you a story. This tale goes back to the twilight and the dawn of time. But like my saber, its luster hasn't tarnished with age. And like my blade, it hasn't lost its edge. Long, long ago, and far away from here, a group of travelers was journeying like the sycamore leaves skate over the wind. They were eight drifters, driven by the hopes of a promised land. For many moons, they had roamed the shifting lands as the beggar wanders from temple to sanctuary in search of a bowl of rice and a straw mat for the night. But at nightfall, when they were just a stone's throw from their destination, they realized that the last of them had fallen behind. Worried, the other seven called upon seven swordsmen to go see where the last traveler had taken refuge. They offered everything they had, down to the last sip of their tokkuri. And the swordfighters, once satisfied, plunged into the mist to search for the missing man. None of them suspected that the thick, gloomy fog was not of this world. In fact, it was the very fog that ghosts used to reach the afterlife. The drifters each lit a candle, and in the incense-filled air, sent their prayers to the heavens. Then they went to bed, letting the moon finish its arc over the horizon. When they woke, the seven drifters noticed that no one had joined them. They could no longer recall their companion's name, nor the seven fighters who had braved the shadows to rescue him. For in visiting the mists, they too had become specters. So what do you say, Atsadi-san? Are you ready to become a shadow yourself?"