The New Winds

War and Diplomacy
The Code of Bushidō is known as the “Way of the Warrior,” and all samurai are warriors. The vast majority of samurai are bushi, trained in the physical arts of war, but all samurai—including courtiers, artisans, and shugenja—approach their duty to fulfill their lord’s commands by establishing dominance through force of will and skill, if not by force of arms. All samurai are warriors on a battlefield. Death stands three feet away from all bushi, but in court, death comes from a glance or a fluttering fan

In Rokugan, political struggles primarily take place in the courts of the Empire. Every daimyō and governor maintains a court in their castle, palace, or manor. They invite courtiers and artisans from other families and clans to attend and discuss important business, negotiate treaties and trade deals, and generally work to increase the power and prestige of their lord through social maneuvering. The higher ranking and more prestigious the host, the more powerful and import-ant the court, and the greater danger—and potential gain—for attending samurai. The Imperial Court, host-ed by the Emperor and the Jeweled Champions, is the greatest and most important court in the Empire. In the winter, it is called the Winter Court, which is held at a different noble’s palace each year. The Winter Court is the more prestigious to attend. Many courtiers spend a lifetime trying to win an appointment to it, which would let them spend months in close proximity to the most powerful samurai in the Empire discussing matters of the weightiest import for the coming year

The Arts of Diplomacy
Rokugan is a land concerned with appearances. Know-ing the importance of preserving one’s reputation is crucial to understanding the civilization built by the Kami to mirror Heaven: in the eye of the divine, perception is everything. Courtesy to others will grant a person much, while being discourteous can cost them everything. To contradict appearances without proof or just cause is deeply embarrassing to both the one who stumbles and the one who witnesses it, for both the contradiction and the witnessing of it disrupt the harmony of the world. Honorable and respectful samurai always give others ample opportunity to save face by backing down from an unseemly outburst or giving the other samurai the opportunity to recognize and correct their mistaken action.

In Rokugan, what matters is often not what one says but rather how one says it. Even making an accusation or pointing out poor behavior must be done precisely so as not to dishonor oneself. As long as a person is respectful, propriety is preserved and society endure

This applies to every battle, whether in the court or on the battlefield. In Rokugan, many social customs center on maintaining appearances and demonstrating sincerity rather than being honest or blunt. Some clans are more skilled at this game than others: the Crab are infamous for their brusque nature and the Dragon for being unpredictable, while the Crane and Scorpion are famed for their grace and subtlety, and the Lion are known for their stoicism in both war and peace. These social customs extend to every level of behavior

Court Structures
Court attendees encompass an assortment of samurai from radically different walks of life. Courtiers are ubiquitous, but military officers (generals and captains for the highest courts and sergeants and lieutenants for lesser courts) are generally expected to attend if their duties permit. In higher courts, representatives from the Great Clan schools are present, usually sensei. Prominent temples send monks, major strongholds or cities send representatives, and virtually any group worth noting ensures they have a representative in court to listen to the proceedings to help their group know how next to act, if nothing more.

Courts ascend in importance from city and provincial courts up to the Imperial Court. Clan courts are primarily attended by prominent personages of that clan and family daimyō when they aren’t in attendance at their own courts. A clan court is held at the residence of the clan champion, though the task of managing the court can be relegated to a trusted hatamoto. Delegations from other clans (both allies and enemies) make a point of attending clan courts, and frequently an Imperial guest attends to demonstrate the power and importance of the Throne. A court held by a Great Clan family is much like a clan court, albeit at a smaller scale. Guests at a family court primarily come from other families within the same clan, but a court might more rarely host representatives from another clan

The courts of the Minor Clans are considered to be of equal importance to Great Clan courts in theory, but in practice, they’re rarely better attended than family courts, as Minor Clans only control a small amount of land. Consequently, many courtiers from Minor Clans try to achieve semi-permanent positions within the courts of the Great Clans.

There is no higher court in the Empire than the Imperial Court. While it is the personal court of the Emperor, the importance of the court for the political activities of the Great Clans is such that it meets whether or not the Emperor deigns to attend (and the Hantei often does not). The modern Imperial Court is an imposing arena where the foremost leaders and representatives of a clan are fully empowered to make decisions without needing to consult their clan champion, and thus only the most trusted and competent attend.

The Imperial Chancellor represents the Emperor’s interests when the Hantei is unavailable to appear in court. The chancellor leads court, assisted by deputy chancellors and heralds, determining the speaking order of delegations and ensuring that all in attendance abide by protocol and etiquette. The chancellor’s various duties and privileges allow them to steer the agenda of the court in ways both subtle and overt. The informal position of Imperial Advisor is relatively new. The person in this role serves the Emperor with nearly any task they may require. Bayushi Kachiko is the current, and first, Imperial Advisor. The other clan delegations whisper that Kachiko has undue influence over the Emperor, yet none have so far risked any open attempt to weaken her position.

During much of the year, the Imperial Court is located in Otosan Uchi, but during the autumn months, the Emperor announces a location where the members of the court will winter; this clan castle hosts the Imperial Winter Court for that year. It is a tremendous privilege, and clans compete fiercely for the right to serve as the Emperor’s host for the season. The Crane and Imperial families have hosted the greatest number of Winter Courts throughout the centuries, so much so that Kyūden Doji and Kyūden Seppun contain permanent guest quarters for the Hantei, but all of the Great Clans have hosted a Winter Court at least once, and the Fox Clan played host to the Emperor twice in the early centuries of the Empire.

Courtly Practices and Perils
Those who follow the courtier’s path must do so with the courage of a warrior facing down enemy steel, and a failure in court can be more damaging to a family than the mere death of a samurai or a lost battle. Courtiers’ victories are commensurately greater: bringing honor to their family through risk and reward with-out loss of life is highly prized. In a land where honor is defended with steel and insults are answered with lethal challenges, even bushi serving as yōjimbō find court to be a harrowing experience, as their lives or the lives of their charges can be placed in supreme danger with a glance and tittering laugh. Skilled courtiers must find ways to obstruct, undermine, and destroy their opponents without the same fate befalling them or their clan

More than any other part of Rokugani life, court bears the weight of these social customs, and in it, everything is heightened by power and import. Every moment in court is suffused with graceful movement, delicate etiquette, and indirect speech to convey meaning where words will not suffice. Words are specifically chosen to offer everything and promise nothing, thus providing negotiators flexibility for differing interpretations while saving face. Even deeper meaning is hidden between the lines; as much or more is conveyed by what is left unsaid. In the void between what is said and what is meant, agreements are made, and wars are won, though alliances and treaties are never spoken of in such an uncouth manner

Even a minor daimyō who insults or ignores a courtier without cause or with undue rudeness might dis-grace their family with such breach of etiquette. Nearly every court is honeycombed with private chambers and gardens where private speech can occur and details of agreements can be confirmed. Courtiers return to their clans in the off seasons or send a messenger to relay the news of such agreements; few alliances or treaties are written in Rokugan, for a samurai’s word is enough.

Private Speech
The use of paper walls throughout Rokugan has, combined with other matters of etiquette, naturally led to the adoption of certain conventions. Fundamentally, people must ignore anything they hear behind a paper wall, no matter how clearly audible it is. To make any mention of a private conversation would be to admit to eavesdrop-ping, a dishonorable act that undermines anything one might hope to gain. And because the folding, movable shōji screens are treated just like permanent walls wherever they are placed, the same rules apply. This is a great boon for samurai in a castle crowded by the seasonal arrival of courtiers, as they can arrange for privacy simply by stepping behind a shōji screen.

Perhaps a less obvious result of this situation is the practice of treating paper fans with the same gravity. Hiding one’s mouth indicates a private conversation, the words meant only for the person to whom they are addressed. Decorum requires that anyone who should overhear such an exchange must ignore it, just as if it were heard through a shōji screen or other paper wall separating rooms. Of course, in practice, this primarily limits a person only from admitting they overheard; samurai often act on such information. Many courtiers count on this and make delicate and exacting use of fans, as well as shōji screens, to spread rumors and other-wise manipulate the flow of information in such a way that it can never be attributed to them, even if everyone at court knows the source


Exchanging Hostages (Hitojichi)
The exchange of hostages dates to the dawn of the Empire, and it has been used (and abused) by the Emperor in order to enforce the peace. Hostage exchange among samurai occurs frequently in the aftermath of court negotiations and as a consequence of war maneuvers.

The hostages who are exchanged are treated extremely well by the host clan. They are always young, well before the age of gempuku, and often they are youth of acclaimed lineage and great talent. They are sometimes even enrolled in one of the schools of the host clan as a sign of great favor, or as part of the hostage exchange. Still, their primary purpose is to ensure the good behavior of their clan. This is by no means an ironclad guarantee: rather, it is merely another circumstance that is taken into consideration when a samurai is choosing whether or not to break a deal.

Giftgiving
A lord provides their samurai retainers with every reasonable need; thus, giving a samurai a gift with any kind of utility is an insulting insinuation that their lord is incapable. In theory, only a rōnin or a peasant would even consider accepting a monetary gift, but bribery is one of many problems magistrates must sometimes investigate

Gifts are given for a variety of reasons: to celebrate a past event or a happy occasion, when meeting a superior for the first time, as a recognition of merit, or during a special event. Despite the traditional thrice-refusal, the recipient has no socially acceptable way of turning down a gift; thus, a gift can be used as a carefully crafted insult to the receiving samurai and their lord. Giving a samurai something they surely should already have—such as giving a Bayushi a copy of Lies or an Akodo a copy of Leadership—sends a clear message.

Gift-giving and receiving etiquette is an essential part of Rokugani culture, as gifts imply special relational responsibilities. Accepting one often creates a sense of unfulfilled obligation.

Gifts are initially refused twice out of politeness to the giver. If the giver insists, then the receiver will accept the gift, acknowledging their new obligation to their generous benefactor. If appropriate, gifts can be repaid with reciprocal gifts. In the case of a gempuku gift, this obligation should create a deeper sense of responsibility and loyalty to the new samurai’s family and clan.

While art may seem a frivolous pursuit, it serves as yet another way to maneuver politically and socially in Rokugan. Gift giving is an important part of Rokugani culture, and a work produced by the gift-giver is especially valued for the effort expended on the gift. This also allows the giver to send subtle messages to the recipient. For example, an origami lion may suggest an alliance against a mutual foe, while a painting of an ocean scene may propose a trade agreement. The best pieces of art are those with multiple possible meanings, so that only the recipient may understand the message

Marriage and Adoptions
Unions between families are a vital part of politics in Rokugan, and adoptions and marriages are the tools by which such political unions are achieved. Betrothals and adoptions are negotiated contracts between two families, and might or might not include consultation of those to marry, adopt, or be adopted. Most samurai families hire a professional nakōdo to find a good spouse for their heirs, or to identify prospective heirs for adoption, and to conduct the negotiations

Matchmakers consider a number of factors in arranging a marriage, such as temperaments, age differences, sexual orientations, and skill sets, but the most important factor is whether the political needs of the clans are met through the marriage—not love nor romance. The desires and wants of the individuals come second to the needs of their people, if they are considered at all

Good nakōdo do consider these desires and wants, however. Benten, Fortune of Arts and Romantic Love, is one of the Seven Great Fortunes, and none in Rokugan deny the power of love or the raw passion of romance. This Fortune does not discriminate on the basis of social class or gender in the love she inspires, and the Tao of Shinsei clarifies that love and romance are natural expressions of human nature. Yet, free expressions of love are for peasants: a samurai’s first duty is to clan and lord, and neither love nor romance needs to come into play during a successful marriage (though a lack of abject loathing is certainly necessary). It’s not impossible for a samurai to marry someone they love, but it takes a certain amount of luck for the other family to be amenable, as well as convincing the matchmaker that it’s favorable.

The most important part of the contract spells out which part of the married couple will join the other’s family. Usually, whoever has the lower social station will join the family of the higher-status partner; most families use this as a way to select talented samurai from those of lesser rank, elevating them into power and prestige through marriage.

Adoption is as important as marriage for solidifying political unions between families. As with marriage, considerations of temperament, age, and other factors are important, but outweighed by the needs of the political situation. The adoption of very young or very promising samurai from vassal families or lower-status bloodlines is common, and it is a great honor for all involved. These adopted samurai take on the family and clan names, and they are treated as natural children for all concerns. Adult adoptions are not uncommon, and are used when sexual orientations (or an existing marriage) preclude the possibility of marriage

Some families have different customs; the Utaku family forbids its daughters to marry men of higher status, and the Matsu family discourages it, while for the Doji, sons and daughters are often married to spouses of higher-status. Such family traditions pertaining to adoption are extremely rare, which is another reason it often provides an alternative to marriage. Regard-less, the higher-status family that gains a new member traditionally makes payment to the family who loses a member; this is another contractual duty for the match-maker to arrange, and it can lead to highly elaborate political concerns beyond a simple—and shameful—exchange of money. Among the most powerful lords, exchanges of land, castles, personnel, artwork, and rare commodities such as herds or horses may all be included in these negotiations.

Regional Court Practices
In each region, courts have unique trends and traditions that change and evolve over time:

Crab: In Crab lands, courtly and bureaucratic functions are often done during meals, rather than before or afterward, so that those involved may return to their tasks more quickly.

Crane: In the wake of the tsunami, talk of natural disasters is considered uncouth, and most courtiers go out of their way to avoid directly discussing storms, instead using euphemisms.

Dragon: At the court of a Dragon lord, it is not uncommon for the hosting daimyō to begin with a koan or other riddle and ask each attendant for their interpretation.

Lion: Military exercises are a frequent staging ground for political discourse, as lords mingle in the war camps and inevitably talk of politics. Requesting joint exercises or a mock battle with the forces of another lord is a common way to open negotiations.

Phoenix: At the end of meetings with their advisors, Phoenix daimyō traditionally leave the room, so that their advisors may speak freely. When they return, a designated speaker delivers the group's concerns, so that the daimyō does not know who voiced them.

Scorpion: When serving sake or tea at court, it is customary that the guest who arrived last drink first. If two guests arrived at the same time, they drink together.

Unicorn: In the city of Khanbulak, modern Rokugani poetry has become very fashionable among the members of the Unicorn clan who live there, and many court meetings begin with such recitations.

A Political Game
The Game of Letters is a traditional Winter Court “game” involving the exchange of correspondence. Courtiers send poems to one another to flaunt their poetic skill and communicate hidden messages. Usually, the letters are thirty-one syllables long, using a 5-7-5-7-7 pattern, but other poetic forms may also be featured. The letters are used to threaten, entice, tease, and entrap other distinguished guests of the court. Importantly, none of the letters are sealed, and half of the game comes from the fact that contents of the letters are relayed from the couriers to their masters. The identity of the sender remains hid-den, but the recipient is known to all the court. This is achieved by the sender leaving the letter in a public space, or having a servant do so. If the recipent chooses to respond, they must leave their letter in the open.

By virtue of the letter being public knowledge, the letter writer will hear about or read the letter themselves eventually. This continues the game until the sender is discovered or one of the participants concedes. Beyond the contents of the letter, the weight and quality of the paper, the color and scent of the ink, and the nature of any attachments all combine to send an indirect message to the recipient.

Constant streams of letters flow throughout Rokugani courts. At any given time, a courtier maintains a dozen or more correspondences. Their letters are carried by servants to their intended recipients, but such messages are hardly considered private. After all, it is not as though a servant could do anything if a samurai stopped them, plucked a letter from their hands, read it, and then gave it back. As a result, courtiers must obfuscate the meaning of their letters to prevent unwanted eyes from intercepting and understanding them.

The Game of Letters, utilized by allies, enemies, and lovers alike, takes advantage of this practice. In this game, a samurai follows a set of conventions to compose a letter containing a hid-den meaning, the skillful uncovering of which can provoke (or amuse) the recipient. The letter writer employs intricate symbolism not just in the writing, but in the style of calligraphy; the type, texture, and color of the paper; the kind of ink used; and items enclosed within the letter (such as a hint of perfume or a pressed flower), all of which suggest the secret meaning.

When such a letter is received, regardless of the writer’s intention, the recipient must reply in kind. To do otherwise is to concede to the sender. The response may be written on the same paper, or a new letter can be deployed. Of course, the correspondents take it for granted that their letters can be read by anyone; that is just a part of the game. If an unintended reader gets the wrong idea from an intercepted message (and engages in ill-advised action as a result), well, that is hardly the writer’s fault!



Memari
Kemari is a game played throughout Rokugan by children and samurai alike. The game initially involves a group of eight individuals who bounce and kick a leather-bound ball or sack about using their feet, knees, shoulders and head. Participants always keep their arms folded behind their backs and form a circle of players. A referee bounces the ball in the center of the group, and the first participant to move forward bounces the ball to a fellow participant. Individuals then attempt to keep the ball in the air for as long as possible

Allowing a ball to fall to the ground causes the failing participant to immediately be eliminated from the competition. One by one, participants leave the circle until there are only two remaining. The two then jostle for first place, with the winner and runner up moving onto the next round of a competition. Competition is fierce, with participants often resorting to disparaging remarks to put their competition off balance.

Played regularly in full courtly regalia, Kemari is a test of skill and wits, and often results in shameful displays of bad sportsmanship and rudeness. Participants find that maintaining one’s dignity during a game is as much a challenge as keeping the ball in the air, which acts as a subtle metaphor for the duplicity of life as a samurai.