Ronin Lore

[Vutall]

Mature Themes
Seppuku, or ritual suicide, is a harsh reality in Rokugan, and this chapter brings it into starker focus. Rōnin status exists as a counterpoint to seppuku. Rokugani samurai who commit seppuku do so in order to diffuse the social censure that would fall on them and, especially, on their family were they to continue to live. Part of the social censure and disenfranchisement that a rōnin faces is directly related to the fact that they “failed” to commit seppuku.

Without a Lord

Glory and respect are behind you. A dusty road; cold, wet nights; and a bloody or ignominious end lie ahead. You once had all the advantage and privilege in Rokugan. You traded them away, willingly or otherwise—but you received something in return, some-thing precious and rare in this country. You’re free––not from hunger, exposure, violence, or hard work, but no one gives you orders. No Great Clan decides who you are. So here you are, a sword without a master. You may last only a single moment...but it’s your moment, and no one else’s. How did you get here?

Born A Samura
iWhen most people think of rōnin, they think of fallen samurai. According to Shinseist doctrine, a human being’s birth as a samurai indicates that their conduct in previous lives accrued a great deal of good karma—or, from a more traditional Shinseist perspective, very little karma of any kind—such that the Celestial Order thought them fit for birth into a life of privilege and responsibility. It is the samurai’s job to show the world—and the Heavens—that they deserve the power and respect given to them. A samurai who becomes rōnin then, lives as the ultimate failure. They were given the most precious gift a human can be given at birth and they squandered it through their own weakness.

Death of One’s Lord
If a lord dies without formally naming an heir, they create a power vacuum. Traditionally, a samurai who loses their lord without passing into the service of another must commit seppuku. Since the continuity of their lord’s noble line is sacrosanct, all of the lord’s retainers share responsibility for failing to prevent the destruction of that line. They have failed their lord. If they want their families’ names and prosperity to remain intact, they must die.

...However it’s often not that simple. If a lord has no heir and they die suddenly or decide to retire to a monastery, and no family exists to take up their responsibilities, what good does it do for all their retainers to die? There are any number of good reasons why a samurai retainer might choose not to commit seppuku. Perhaps they don’t want to impoverish or traumatize their family. Perhaps their lord died or left their responsibilities for foolish reasons, and the samurai’s death would validate those reasons. Perhaps the samurai thinks suicide is an absurd idea and that any system that demands it is equally absurd. Regardless, the samurai’s lord is gone—and that makes the samurai rōnin

With the passing of an heirless lord, a neighboring lord is likely to move in to seize their assets. However, this process takes time. News of the death needs to spread. The deceased lord’s clan must decide who should gain the advantage and shoulder the responsibility for the lord’s holdings. This process can lead to dissension, arguments—even wars, especially if a neighboring clan tries to take the land for itself. Once the clan chooses a successor, if they are close by, the transition period may last only a few months. If not, it could take years for the new lord to muster enough forces to march to the castle and secure it

In the meantime, all the dead lord’s former retainers must decide what to do. Technically, they are rōnin. They might remain in the castle without the lord, in what some refer to as a “ghost fief.” They might go on the road and return when they hear the castle is likely to get a proper lord again. However, they are not guaranteed new employment when a new lord arrives to take it over. The new lord may well see the previous lord’s death without a proper heir as a failure on the retainers’ part to advise them. Or, when the new lord hears the castle is occupied by rōnin, they may send their troops in without bothering to ask questions

A rōnin whose lord has died often carries grief or anger as a burden. Their entire life has become defined by their lord’s death—a death that occurred outside the accepted circumstances for a samurai. Since the rōnin’s lord was samurai, society expects they have their affairs in order should they be called to duty and need to give their life for their own lord. They should have provided for their family and for their retainers in case of their demise. A moment of unexpected tragedy, an accident of nature, or a selfish choice on the part of a rōnin’s master has left the rest of the rōnin’s life cursed.

Voluntarily Leaving One’s Lord
The code of Bushidō demands loyalty to one’s lord no matter their incompetence or wickedness. It is said that a samurai who serves a wicked lord faithfully shows more understanding of Bushidō than one who serves a good lord faithfully. This is not to say that a samurai may never doubt or question their lord’s judgment. They must follow a strict order of operations when they remonstrate with their lord, affirming their own feudal commitment to the lord’s well-being as they call the lord’s behavior into doubt. If a lord commits themself to an evil course of action, the samurai should not rebel against them, overthrow them, or even disobey them. There is only one acceptable way to protest one’s lord’s failures: seppuku.

But suicide may not influence a wicked, incompetent, or simply distracted lord. If a samurai’s suicide would have no effect on their lord and would not protect their family, they might make the unthinkable decision: to leave their lord voluntarily and become rōnin. Passion is another possible motivation for leaving one’s lord. Did the samurai fall in love with some-one whom they could not love while still serving their lord? Did they swear revenge on someone outside their lord’s grasp—perhaps someone their lord for-bade them to fight? Did they feel a call to become the greatest martial artist of all, and to travel the country until they achieve that status or die? If so, they might forsake their responsibilities

Rōnin who took on their status voluntarily may be the most hated and denigrated of all, especially by lorded samurai. They chose to be rōnin and abandon their duty. These rōnin often struggle with the concept of free will, and with both the freedom, and lack thereof, that their rōnin status thrusts upon them. A rōnin may go anywhere and do anything they please—but social disregard and financial exigency hold them back.

The Lord Loses Resources
One of the most common and humiliating reasons for a samurai to become rōnin is the shrinking of their lord’s wealth or lands. If an enemy lord seizes much of a lord’s wealth in a war or via a treaty, the lord may need to sell off their holdings to pay debts. If a natural disaster strikes their lands, they may no longer be able to produce enough rice to feed and outfit their retainers. The lowest in status or the least liked would then be dismissed. This process is heartbreaking and humiliating for both lord and subject. Retainers laid off this way generally do not commit seppuku; financial reasons are not considered an appropriate reason to do so. Rōnin status is thus the only choice left to them. A rōnin who gains their status due to their lord’s financial exigencies has no dark, tragic backstory to share when someone asks them about their history. There is no grand melodrama, no story of human tragedy: just the question of where their next meal must come from


The Endless Year
Many samurai spend a year after their gempuku, their coming-of-age ceremony, traveling the country, alone or with friends or relatives of the same age, as “temporary rōnin” ­see Martial Pilgrim on page 13 for additional information). During this time period, regardless of their birth, they live as rōnin do\ wandering the Empire, never staying in the same place for more than a few weeks, earning their keep by doing odd jobs or fighting for the highest bidder. This period gives privileged, sheltered nobles an opportunity to see the “real Rokugan” while testing their childhood training in martial arts and courtesy in the field. This year is difficult and eye-opening for many young samurai, who are eager to get back to their orderly lives when they return from it. For some, though, the freedom they taste during that year intoxicates. Instead of returning to their comfortable routines, they just choose to never go home

These rōnin are exceedingly rare, but every samurai parent fears their child will become one of them. A samurai who takes on rōnin status this way can prob-ably look forward to a life spent running and hiding from their parents. Due to the scandal that results when a clan’s favored children voluntarily choose a life of vagrancy and irresponsibility, most clans throw prodigious resources into reclaiming such errant youths

Branded a Rōnin
Some rōnin earn their status because mainstream samurai society simply cannot categorize them in any other way that makes sense—because they have seized a social position for themself and society has no other words for such blasphemy. Is a samurai doing something “no samurai could do?” Perhaps their compatriots will decide they are rōnin.

Open rebellion against one’s lord tends to warrant this status. In one high-profile case, a samurai killed their lord in response to the lord’s abusive behavior toward his retainers, seizing control of his castle and sending letters to all the lord’s relatives and connections that they would henceforth fulfill their lord’s duties. This samurai managed to gain the support of nearly all the lord’s retainers and now governs their former lord’s domain as if they had legitimately inherited it. The samurai’s clan has put a bounty on their head, but the castle sits in so defensible a location that any siege would require a discouraging amount of resources to unseat what amounts to a bandit monarch. In lieu of actually doing anything about it, the samurai’s clan has instead declared them rōnin. No one knows if the samurai has noticed

Lowly Born
According to the Celestial Order, a peasant cannot become rōnin—but that truth has not stopped many a peasant from scrounging up some weapons, learning to swing them, and walking away from their old life onto a path of uncertainty and violence. The even less fortunate may have their comfortable lives ripped away from them, making the path of waves more attractive than any other option. The question remains: why?

Why would a peasant put themself at that level of risk? Why wouldn’t they follow the path into which they were born, finding their livelihood in farming, trade, or a craft, vocations always in demand in Rokugan? If they could not practice their parents’ trade, why wouldn’t they apprentice themself in a different craft or trade? How and why would they learn to fight?

Love of Fighting
Some child prodigies excel at singing or playing a musical instrument. Others show less savory tendencies, even in their youth. They have violence or cruelty in their heart—or some ineffable combination of their childhood circumstances has buried a demon in their mind. Or perhaps some of these youths crave an outlet for a passion they can-not pursue, have a deep-seated desire to prove themself, or have found that violence is sometimes the only way to protect what one loves.

In the samurai class, in which members inherit violence as their birthright, such proclivities tend to go unnoticed. A samurai child who loves violence, or who cannot help but indulge in it, has ample opportunities to exercise their character. They are supported and told their gifts mark them as having been destined for samurai life. This is not so for such a child among merchants, artisans, or farmers. In those groups, a tendency toward violence or force, whether justifiable or not, can lead to problems both within the community and with the samurai class. Anger issues, unresolved trauma, stress, or the fierce desire to protect can drive these children, soon to be adults, to regrettable action. Most will grow up being told their actions are unacceptable, or spend their youth being punished for simply caring too much. For many, nothing makes sense until a weapon’s weight is in their hand and they have a reason to use it.

A Life of Combat
It is a samurai’s duty to protect the peasants who feed and supply them. However, not all peasants benefit even from samurai who succeed in this duty. Skirmishes and battles in Rokugan frequently sweep up towns, villages, and fields in fire, steel, and blood. Marauding samurai expect peasants to give up their provisions and their houses. If they resist, they die; but if they acquiesce, they’ll die when the opposing army arrives and finds them giving aid and comfort to their enemies. Sometimes, samurai draft peasants as auxiliaries, crudely arming them and sending them to execute orders in missions they are not expected to survive.

A swaggering samurai occupying a peasant’s ancestral home may inspire affronted peasants to sharpen their farming tools and kill the samurai in the night. A peasant press-ganged into a militia considered expendable may survive their unwanted job. Upon returning to their village, they find it burned and their fields despoiled, and decide to take to the road, their heart pumping with rage. If they’re lucky, their family will travel with them. Otherwise, their family’s absence will weigh on their shoulders heavier than any pack. They may launch themselves into combat out of a self-destructive impulse or a desire to forget the past. They may have nothing left but a weapon in their hands and a burdened heart.

Following the Heart
Sometimes, a peasant’s life demands something from them they cannot help but give. What if a villager in a little country town winds up in a whirlwind romance with a wandering rōnin or monk? What if some event changes a peasant’s life, and they know they must do everything they can to make things right? Or what if someone wronged a peasant and disappeared, and the peasant needs to find them to take their revenge? What if a great clan drafted a peasant’s best friend as an ashigaru, a peas-ant soldier, and the peasant had to follow their comrade to keep them safe? Or, perhaps, nothing has happened at all. Year after year, nothing has happened, until one day a peasant feels a calling, maybe in a dream or in the words of a friend, or perhaps the spirits themselves call them to action. And now the peasant has a choice: they can throw what life they have away—their trade, their familial ties—for something else. They can choose to follow the whims of fate or they can choose to stand still, waiting another day, another month, another year for something to come to them—but this may be their only chance.

Those who become rōnin in this way may under-stand joy and love better than others. They tend to follow their hearts freely, seeking their passions like few others do. They have cast off the pressures of society in favor of freedom and satisfaction. Their tendency to pursue their desires with foolhardy abandon might get them in trouble, but they see their goal as worth it: a life pursuing not just contentment, but elation.

Born A Rōnin
A strict interpretation of the Celestial Order dictates that a child with one rōnin parent and one parent of any other caste receives the other parent’s caste. A child with only rōnin parents has that strangest of classifications\ born rōnin. These children grow up knowing only the road, or the small space by its side that their parents have carved for themselves. They grow up fast and learn a wide diversity of skills early in life: alertness, cooking, begging, wilderness survival, and violence

While the prototypical rōnin child is a child of the road, rocking in a baby carriage with its wheels aimed toward perdition, more young rōnin actually grow up on “islands”\ in rōnin parlance, small settlements full of rōnin or with a mixture of rōnin and peasants. Islands tend to keep a low profile, their inhabitants interacting with society at a distance lest they be labeled brigands or outlaws and attract hot-headed young samurai eager to make names for themselves. For this reason also, an island has to stay small. Rōnin parents generally expect their children to be ready to take to the road with them or by themselves at any time.

Rōnin children are often the focus of these communities. Other rōnin trust them naturally; after all, the waves are in their blood. Accustomed to the needs and fluctuations of life on the waves, they make natural community leaders and supports for others in similar circumstances. Other parties of savvy travelers, such as magistrates, may add rōnin-born travelers to their party as quartermasters or jacks of all trades


Life On The Road
Most rōnin must dedicate the majority of their attention to their basic needs: food, water, shelter, warmth, companionship, and medicine. After that, perhaps on humble comforts or vice. Sometimes these things can be scavenged, but more often, they cost money. And so, a rōnin, who was perhaps once a samurai so wealthy and powerful they could afford to hire someone to think about money for them, now must deal with cash directly. The rattle and click of a string of bu in a rōnin’s hand initially feels dirty, like the touch of raw meat. But a rōnin comes to crave that feeling as surely as a dog craves the hunt. If they want it, they must work. Fortunately, and unfortunately, a rōnin’s position makes them uniquely suited to do certain things Rokugan needs doing.

Martial Pilgrim
A warrior on the Musha Shugyō, or warrior pilgrim-age, is called a shugyōsha. This type of pilgrimage is undertaken by both lorded samurai ­especially during the year after gempuku) and rōnin. Lords may deny permission for such a pilgrimage for any reason, how-ever, and there are plenty of samurai who never take one. Many lords who prohibit a musha shugyō fear that their newly minted samurai will succumb to the allure of being a rōnin, bringing disgrace not only to them-selves, but to their clan and lord

A shugyōsha travels from place to place, apprenticing themself to master martial artists they meet and paying for their training by doing housework, cooking, and other odd jobs for the master. Many shugyōsha take the opportunity to test their skills in duels, especially with other shugyōsha. Such duels are generally nonlethal, but tempers sometimes run hot. When they believe they have learned all they need to learn from a teacher—or when the teacher runs out of things for them to do or tires of them—they take their leave and move on.

Musha shugyō as a concept is controversial. The ideal of the shugyōsha is highly esteemed\ a warrior dedicated to the pure expression of martial arts, who will go anywhere and do anything to become supremely expert in the art of war, represents the greatest heights to which a martial artist can aspire. However, they represent an exceedingly poor archetype of the martial arts student. Many serious martial arts masters find shugyōsha infuriating and selfish opportunists, appropriators who traipse from school to school taking what they like and failing to contribute to the school’s long-term health as senior students or teachers themselves. They often do not stay long enough to grasp the true forms or lessons of a school’s famous techniques, instead learning hackneyed versions that outwardly resemble certain moves but do not recreate their essence. A shugyōsha who claims to know a school’s famous technique and then catastrophically fails to execute it in a high-profile duel can make that school a laughingstock for years. Worst of all, a shugyōsha who successfully completes their pilgrimage may end up creating their own competitor school and passing off techniques as their own. Accordingly, many popular and highly regarded dōjō ban shugyōsha from training there, forcing shugyōsha to conceal their true identity if they want to secure instruction.

However, especially for smaller schools, shugyōsha are sometimes a necessary evil. Sometimes schools don’t have enough students for their sensei to make a living off of lessons. Sometimes an elderly teacher with-out much family needs someone to help out around the house. Further, a shugyōsha contributes promotional value while they travel. Talking about a technique they learned from a school brings that school attention and, hopefully, more students

Artistic Pilgrims
Less glamorous but also far safer and less contentious are pilgrims who follow an artistic path rather than a martial one. Many rōnin take up a handicraft such as woodcarving or a musical pastime like singing to keep their spirits up and their minds active while they endure the hardship of the road. Those with noticeable talent at one of these arts might follow a path parallel to that of the shugyōsha.

Mercenary
It is widely held that the way of the samurai is found in death—that every true samurai must see themself as already dead and must commit themself to obey their lord’s dictates without hesitation or concern for self-preservation. Their lord, however, may not feel the same way. Experienced, veteran samurai are a precious resource to a daimyō—and a single arrow can destroy such a resource forever. Therefore, when a daimyō needs a high-risk job completed—or even just when they must swell their ranks quickly—they often look to expendable mercenaries

Mercenary work for a daimyō generally pairs high risk with high reward. Journeying into no man’s land to bait opposing forces forward? Filling out the front line of a squad poised for battle? Scouting deep behind enemy lines? All are likely to get a person killed, but pay those who survive exceedingly well. These jobs pay well, working for samurai of less exalted station tends to be more reliable work. A minor lord without many retainers has fewer resources to expend but is more likely to offer a rōnin work as a bodyguard or castle guard, or in another position normally reserved for lorded samurai. Working for a merchant is less prestigious and sometimes dirtier, since some merchants turn out to be crime bosses by another name, but merchants tend to have plenty of money and a great need to guard it.

The Monastic Path
Seppuku and the path of waves aren’t the only options for a samurai whose life has fallen apart. Taking holy orders can be an attractive alternative as monks can reliably expect enough food, water, and medical care to stay alive; a roof over their heads; and society’s acceptance of them as practitioners of a respected vocation regardless of their previous station

Still, monastic life can be daunting. Nov-ice monks usually spend most of their time on hard, unglamorous physical labor. The food is nutritious and filling, but uninspiring. Some orders make special demands of their members: perhaps a vow of silence or chastity, which can also deter a few would-be monks

Nevertheless, the relative safety and com-fort of monastic life can seem very appealing to those who travel the path of waves, constantly on the lookout to find food and spot danger before it hits them. Some abbots specifically rule out prospects whose deportment or appearance indicates rōnin status because their motivation seems suspect. Why give that bunk to a filthy rogue when some pious lordling might be the next supplicant, bringing noble patronage?

Criminal
The stereotype that rōnin are really no more than common criminals has roots both in truth and untruth. Wanderers with martial skill and nothing to lose do indeed turn to banditry, armed robbery, or protection rackets to make money in difficult times. In cities, they sometimes get involved with thieves or organized crime. The more rōnin there are in an area, the more likely some of them are to resort to criminal activities as a result of too few employment opportunities. High-profile incidents that generate large numbers of rōnin quickly and unexpectedly, like the sudden death of an heirless daimyō, there-fore end up generating upticks in crime

Marginalizing rōnin as criminals allows samurai in power to compound their financial and social advantage over rōnin. The lower a rōnin’s status, the less able they are to negotiate and advocate for themselves, and the easier it is for a lord ­or powerful merchant, or any other employer) to bully them into dirtier and riskier jobs for less pay. The core of this attitude is the idea that rōnin, having failed in the practice of Bushidō, are undeserving of treatment in accordance with the virtues of Bushidō. A strict understanding of the virtues of Courtesy, Compassion, and Honor belies such an attitude—but the idea that the treatment of rōnin somehow exists outside Bushidō is so widespread and pernicious that the samurai who assert those values in their dealings with rōnin grow rarer every day.


Rōnin and the Celestial Order
The Celestial Order is an unpopular topic of conversation among rōnin. According to this concept, living creatures—demons, humans, animals, heavenly beings, and everything in between—accrue spiritual merit and demerit, called karma, over the course of their lives. At the end of a life, the being’s karmic balance determines the nature of their rebirth. The wicked become demons, the less wicked become animals, and the good become humans, with the best and most deserving becoming samurai

Devout Rokugani who believe in the Celestial Order argue that the samurai class’ military responsi-bility to protect humans from violence and supernatu-ral evil demands stronger moral fiber and that samurai therefore deserve greater material comfort. Detractors counter that samurai turn out to be about as good or evil as everyone else—and that evil samurai seem to be responsible for the greatest ills that befall Rokugan.

The existence of rōnin flies in the face of the Celes-tial Order. By a strict reading of this system, a samurai who falls to rōnin status demonstrates that the Celestial Order’s system of karma and reward does not, in fact, reliably produce worthy samurai. A rōnin who was originally a farmer, artisan, merchant, or entertainer but claws their way to pseudosamurai status—or even samurai status, in rare cases—is evidence that those with lesser karmic status can do the job just as well as real samurai. The presence of rōnin implies that the universe makes mistakes and then scrambles to fix them—or else just ignores the failures of its system. To the Celestial Order’s adherents, rōnin are injustice and lies embodied—perversions of birth more literal than any Shadowlands monster.

Another viewpoint, a particular favorite of philosophers who dedicate themselves to the Celestial Order, places all the blame for this situation on rōnin themselves. By falling from grace, or rising above their appointed station, they say rōnin defy the Celestial Order by choice; they shirk their responsibilities or strive for accolades they don’t deserve. Their failure means they will never again be born as samurai—that at the end of their brutish and short life, they are due for a series of increasingly demeaning rebirths as farm animals, gaki ­hungry ghosts), or demons with especially dreary jobs in Jigoku, the Realm of Evil.

Few are brave enough to bring up these points directly with a desperate, bitter rōnin, though. Some rōnin respond to the idea that they’re doomed to remain on the wheel of rebirth as lower beings by immersing themselves in wickedness and vice; after all, they’re fates have already been decided. Others use their position outside normal structures of morality and ethics to call attention to the injustice inherent in the system. This business is risky; an aristocrat, who benefits from the Celestial Order, has little to win in a duel with a dirty rōnin over a philosophical disagreement, but they’re likely to send a gang of ruffians to beat the rōnin up when they’re staggering home drunk one night

Rōnin And The Tenets Of Bushidō
or the rōnin who still believes in the ideals of Bushidō, there is only one recourse: personal adherence to this code. It is said—controversially, but still—that all those whose life and actions embody Bushidō’s seven tenets are real samurai, and will be judged to have fulfilled a samurai’s purpose and responsibilities in the final estimation. Any rōnin—whether a peasant who found some weapons in the ruin of their village or a noble samurai who fell—may live according to these tenets. Surely the cosmos will see their faithful adherence to Bushidō. If they’re lucky, other humans will, too.

Compassion
Rōnin are rarely truly alone. More often, they exist in a community. The stereotype of two rōnin meeting on the road and immediately drawing down on each other is the stuff of fiction. Instead, rōnin who identify one another on the road trade information. What towns are nearby? Which ones are friendliest to vagrants? Which ones have rich people with jobs that need doing? Where are the magistrates based, and do they see rōnin as useful laborers or as likely criminals?

An act of kindness means far more to one who has little than to one who has much. Moreover, compassionate behavior wins a rōnin the respect and regard of others, which are at a premium in their lonely existence. Rōnin crave companionship, love, and laughter as much as anyone, though they must often learn to live without it. Accordingly, kindness and generosity toward others in a similar situation is one of the first things a rōnin who wants to survive learns. The rōnin may have lost their lorded samurai status, but now everyone who walks the wave-tossed road is their sibling.

Courage
Fear often dominates a rōnin’s life. A lorded samurai fears death by violence or betrayal, but a rōnin fears death by many more things: wild animals, starvation, angry villagers, disease. With so much to worry about from so many different sources, a rōnin soon learns to see fear not as a source of pain or doubt, but as a sense, detecting shifts in the environment like an insect’s antennae. A rōnin knows fear’s value in teaching them where danger truly lurks and how to keep themself—and others—safest from it. If courage is acting in the face of fear, rōnin have more opportunities to show it than anyone.

A rōnin’s courage is often impugned by virtue of their habit of running away from combat. Most rōnin would counter that running from battle means some-thing different to them than it does to noble samurai. The reason a lorded samurai does not run from battle is because their reputation rides on their fighting to the death and dying in a heroic manner. The rōnin has no such incentive. A rōnin who stays to die in battle will likely receive no particular accolades, no posthumous elevation to better status—but they may redeem them-selves in the eyes of Emma-O

Courtesy
Of all the virtues of Bushidō, Courtesy is the most important and widely understood for most rōnin. A rōnin goes into nearly any social situation at a dis-advantage. Samurai see them as an affront to their way of life. Commoners see them as a volatile source of violence and danger. Merchants and artisans see them as commodities. A rōnin therefore must learn the etiquette used by people from all walks of life in Rokugan, from beggars to daimyō, if they want to travel safely through those social circles—let alone work for their members.

Since they do not have the social buffers to protect them from consequences a samurai does, rōnin need courtesy to survive social interaction. Moreover, they quickly gain practice in behaving courteously toward people who are not affording them the same privilege. That said, rōnin life is stressful in the extreme. Out-bursts in defiance of courtesy are a constant danger against which they must guard

Duty and Loyalty
Rōnin who were once lorded samurai usually hate the word “Duty” and scoff at samurai who declare their loyalty. Duty betrayed them, and loyalty called for their death. The laws of lord and retainer, the laws that command that those who serve must always follow the whims ­no matter how foolish) of those who rule, are the very laws that created the status of rōnin. Rōnin live in opposition to duty’s dictates—to stay in one’s station, to obey orders, and if one is forced out of servitude to one’s lord, to choose death or live as a coward and a failure forever. To rōnin who wish to follow Bushidō, duty is the greatest challenge. To whom, or to what, are these rōnin duty bound? Where does their loyalty lie?

A rōnin is in the unique position to take on duty and offer genuine loyalty by choice. The most common duty and loyalty a rōnin feels is to their family: many rōnin get married, have children, or both, and many maintain relation-ships with other family members as well. Even those without such associations often end up with “found families” of other rōnin. Some rōnin take on the bur-den of protecting a region from harm, the way samurai might, especially if the region has no formal samurai authority protecting the people. Rōnin who voluntarily take on the bonds of duty and loyalty are motivated by their own reasons and emotions. They don’t have to take on a duty, but they choose to do so, and that makes the duty personal: makes it theirs. In this choice, there is something worth dying for

Honor
Honor is the internal, undeniable measure of one’s nobility of mind and purity of soul. The only judge of one’s honor is oneself, but exclusively with an earnest gaze. An honorable person acts with true integrity, keeping their word as if breaking it would pierce their own heart. In brief, honor is the internal moral com-pass that guides how a person lives and acts as they attempt to pursue their ideals. Society plays a part in honor only so much as society helps mold the ideals of its members. It is up to the individual to parse out how sincerely they are trying to pursue those principles.

And this is well and good for a lorded samurai, but Honor and rōnin are another story. Most rōnin have been spurned by society, often for reasons outside their control. With their status diminished and their prospects bleak, a new rōnin has little left besides the clothes on their back and their honor. In the harsh world of samurai, a rōnin’s chance of survival likely depends on their reputation. A rōnin known for breaking promises, crass behavior, or hurting others is unlikely to be offered work by peasants, and such behavior is likely to draw the attention of the area’s lord.

As a result, honor is one of the most important aspects of a rōnin’s life. If a rōnin lives honorably, they are more likely to gain favor in the communities they travel among and to begin rebuilding their life, whether that means working to become a lorded samurai again or simply finding contentment amid the harshness of the world.

Some rōnin, however, give up on the idea of Honor. They face disrespect and innumerable slights, preconceptions, and prejudices from the samurai they once may have called family. A rōnin who has given up on Honor steals, lies, and cheats to stay alive. With each dishonorable act, they not only diminish their chance of regaining their status but corrupt their very soul.

Righteousness
The concept of the Celestial Order is meant to advance the idea of righteousness and a kind of cos-mic justice. The concept of karma posits that the good or evil inherent to any act accrues an attendant karmic value, one that measures the righteousness, the justice and injustice, of every action performed. However, a rōnin’s rise or fall from the place to which karma has appointed them to seems to show that karma makes mistakes. How hard is it, then, for a rōnin to leap from there to the conclusion that the universe does not judge every action justly? That karma does not exist

But if the Celestial Order means nothing, if karma does not suffuse every action, what is righteousness? It must be the creation of humans. Rōnin know that no cosmic power will take care of the injustices of the world on their behalf. Righteousness, advocating for oneself, seeking out truth among falsehoods and justice in an unjust world must become individual humans’ responsibility. They must hold themselves to this standard, with more conscientious attention than someone who relies on karma to balance the scales. Further, in addition to those rōnin who attempt to treat those around them with justice, there are those who decide that, if the Celestial Order has failed, they must take up the burden the universe has dropped. Rōnin vigilantes who obsess over righteousness, taking it upon them-selves to punish the wicked and corrupt, are popular stock characters in Kabuki plays. These rōnin are few in the real world, but they have existed from time to time. All a rōnin needs is a burning sense of the world’s unfairness and a skillful sword hand to become agent of righteousness in the world, to appoint themself the judge that the Celestial Order has failed to be. A rōnin so motivated is terrifying indeed, a fearsome enemy to the forces of the status quo who require the Celestial Order to maintain their authority.

Sincerity
Many rōnin find the tenet of sincerity difficult to follow, given their lot in life. To be sincere is to be genuine, and authenticity is a hard path to walk when one lives between two worlds. Rōnin are not liars by nature, instead, many become liars by virtue of their station. To be insincere is to live another day: to flatter and praise or make promises but break them when it suits a longer life, earns one a little more coin, or furthers one’s social advancement.

Among their peers, rōnin often speak with candid clarity, uttering the truths in their heart and nothing more. But rōnin’s voices are so scarcely listened to that speaking truth to nonrōnin may achieve nothing. Instead, rōnin learn to say what their interlocutors want to hear. Rōnin exaggerate their own skills and experience to get jobs they need to live. They swear to recruiters that they would never run from a fight. They obscure their own backstories and manufacture entire new identities in order to live free from the tragedies that drove them onto the path of waves. Only truly trusted friends or confidants, then, win the right of sincerity from many rōnin.


Rōnin And Work
In order to survive, a rōnin must work. Whether as a patsy for a lord or as a champion for a peasant, a rōnin has no choice but to scrounge up any work they can find to survive in a society that balks at their status. Lorded samurai, more than any others, are likely to have the brute force, the financial and social power, and the inclination to treat rōnin like trash. But a rōnin who hopes to reclaim the glory of a lorded samurai can find no better opportunity for redemption than working with samurai. However, this is highly risky and demands that the rōnin survive conflict after dangerous conflict.

Rōnin who work with samurai for an extended period of time must accustom themselves to being treated as a lower class of human. Rōnin live, eat, and amuse themselves apart from proper samurai. It is in this way that rōnin truly exemplify the contradiction of their position: they are not lorded samurai, yet peasants often fear them, too. or rōnin, it can feel as though the whole of the world loathes their very being, fears it, or both. Working with peasants is usually easier, as rōnin command respect even with their diminished standing, but the work typically pays very little and does equally little toward achieving their goals. Working with samurai, on the other hand, has the potential for much greater financial reward and social elevation, but it comes at a price. Even in more casual surroundings, such as in a geisha house, samurai often show rōnin far less cordiality even than commoners. After all, commoners are in their required place. Rōnin are seen by some as walking mistakes.

However, regardless of how society views them, rōnin exist and still need to make a living whether it accepts them or not, society often finds them convenient. This section includes a variety of paths, jobs, and positions rōnin may find available to them and the details of those positions and paths.

Mercenaries
Most samurai armies are made up of both lorded samurai and ashigaru. Whether ashigaru are career soldiers or drafted peasants, sometimes they don’t prove sufficient to adequately bolster an army’s ranks, though, and inexperienced troops often perish on the front lines. For these reasons, rōnin are seen as a commodity for filling out battle lines or performing dangerous duties in times of war. Rōnin mercenaries are generally assigned to units that wear simple armor and wield yari ­spears), yumi­bows), or naginata­long polearms). The most difficult fighting tends to fall to them, and because most officers will not hesitate to commit rōnin to missions that mean certain death, rōnin die fast and frequently in battle—to say nothing of death from the illnesses that spread quickly through the dense, dirty camps where they live on campaign. Why would a rōnin agree to such harsh conditions? The answer is simple: the risk may be high, but so is the pay and the possibility of catching the eye of a lord.

Once assigned to a squad, a rōnin spends most of their time traveling, making camp, breaking camp, drilling, and performing the thousand thankless and dreary tasks that soldiers must perform to keep themselves and their army alive from day to day. The pay for such duties is good and reliable: samurai are often willing to have their staff promise tidy sums to mercenaries who are likely to die before payday. The ultimate prize for a rōnin in such a position, though, is a commendation for gallantry in battle. Word of a rōnin who is the first into a breach in a castle wall, who takes the head of a high-er-ranked foe, or who otherwise performs some act of noteworthy bravery inevitably gets to the army’s top brass, who have their staff reward this behavior with a cash bonus or offer a promotion, usually granted in public in order to improve morale and encourage the other rōnin mercenaries to conduct themselves with similar valor. A promotion gives a rōnin greater opportunities to distinguish themself and be noticed. In fact, a rōnin who rises through the ranks this way can return to lorded samurai status. Valor in battle supersedes even deeply held prejudice

However, the odds that a rōnin will die on campaign are astronomically higher than the odds they will receive attention and promotion. Rōnin who are experienced archers are in a slightly better position; archery is a more demanding and less common skill than spear-bearer, and commanders are more likely to protect skilled archers than skilled pike users. But the steady pay and the distant hope of a return to glory are more than enough to send rōnin rushing to the judgment of Emma-O

Guard
Samurai put little stock in rōnin assigned to guard anyone or anything. They expect rōnin to switch sides at the promise of a pay raise or to turn tail and run if the fighting gets tough. Merchants and tradesfolk, however, value anyone willing to put their blades to good use protecting their livelihoods. Because of this, rōnin typically find much more guard work among the common folk than from samurai. If a samurai does offer a rōnin a guard job, the rōnin often finds the work is less about vigilance and more about being a warm body, such as acting as a guard for a decoy in a fort or palanquin. In times of mid-campaign scarcity, samurai may place a handful of rōnin under the command of a more reliable officer to guard targets of slightly greater importance, such as supply trains. This kind of work is safer than the front lines of a battle, but it offers fewer opportunities for advancement.

Ranger
Many rōnin develop wilderness survival, tracking, and forestry skills that civilized samurai and non-samurai lack. While most clans have dedicated specialists trained to be at home in the wild, these are few in number. Since many rōnin know at least a little bit about how to handle themselves in the wilderness, if a clan needs a wild region scouted in a hurry—for example, in response to unexpected troop movements on campaign—hiring a group of rōnin can provide it with invaluable information

Spies And Saboteurs
Sabotage in war or intrigue consists of covertly attacking a foe’s material resources: dumping weevils into their grain, poisoning their wells, loosening wheels and axles on their wagons, cutting their bowstring and so on. It goes hand in hand with espionage: gathering information on an army’s strengths and weaknesses. Samurai are expected to act honorably in all aspects of their lives, but in order to advance the goals of their clans, they must sometimes perform unsavory acts. Shinobi—covert operatives—embody this facet of samurai culture, and the key for them is to avoid getting caught. One way these spies accomplish this is by engaging others to do the dirty work. Rōnin, in this way, can be particularly valuable assets in clandestine affairs, as long as they operate skillfully and can reliably keep secrets.

Rōnin assigned to sabotage duties may find the best way to accomplish their mission is getting themselves hired by an enemy army. Even if positions are unavailable, they may be able to pass themselves off as ashigaru or camp followers in large armies without much risk of being challenged. Stories circulate of canny, unscrupulous rōnin who got themselves hired as secret agents by two different armies and played both off each other successfully–until, of course, they were caught

Shadow Warrior
A kagemusha, or shadow warrior, is a body double paid to impersonate an important military officer. Kage-musha sometimes stand in for their doppelgangers at important functions or are deployed in numbers so that an enemy hoping to assassinate a high-value target will not know which of various caravans or officer corps to target. A rōnin whose appearance, voice, and acting skills are up to the job of kagemusha can be assured a relatively comfortable job that is risky, but not more so than ashigaru duty. There are even stories of kagemusha who went on to assume their lord’s identity after their lord passed on—but surely those must be apocryphal

Tutor
A rōnin with a reputation for excellence in the martial or creative arts may find work with samurai as a teacher or instructor for the young. In order to acquire such a position among samurai who themselves often excel at martial and creative artistry, a rōnin must find a way to advertise their skill and call attention to themself. Challenging the master of a local dōjō or daring to set up a surprise art installation in a public place can easily get a rōnin run out of town at swordpoint. However, if it works, it can lead to a long tenure as a teacher, a position in which the rōnin may gain the trust of young samurai who make them feel like a respected and honored part of the family.

Wandering Priest
For some, the way of the wanderer is the only path in life that feels true to the nature of the world. Wandering priests are typically monks or shugenja who may or may not have been raised as samurai. Occasionally, though, someone who has a particular proclivity for spiritual pursuits might take up wandering priesthood, and this could be anyone from lorded samurai to rōnin to gaijinto hinin ­though hinin would need to hide their origins due to social stigma). These priests can do a variety of tasks like keeping shrines, blessing harvests, and per-forming ceremonies such as weddings and funerals. They have no hard restrictions from clans or monasteries, and they tend to work for small or obscure villages in need of spiritual guidance. Such places have little recourse when the kami are displeased, as shugenja and their ability to invoke the kami are rare.


Rōnin and the Clans
Crab Clan
The stoic and utilitarian attitude of the Crab tends to frame their view of rōnin fairly positively. They generally treat outsiders with a meritocratic fairness\ a rōnin who can fight, withstand hardship, and treat those around them with honesty and respect will get good treatment from the Crab Clan. This is perhaps best exemplified by the Crab’s Twenty Goblin Winter, an event designed to give outsiders, particularly rōnin, an opportunity to join or rejoin the ranks of true samurai. The same stereotypes many ascribe to the Crab ­blunt, unrefined, rough-mannered, stubborn) are also traits they ascribe to rōnin.

That said, Crab do expect their rōnin hires to stand shoulder to shoulder with them in missions beyond the Kaiu Wall. It can be refreshing for a rōnin to see their employer venturing into the same danger and performing the same difficult actions alongside them, but rōnin working for the Crab have their work cut out for them. Serious battle against supernatural horrors and the risk of corruption are daily occurrences for Crab and rōnin on the Wall.

Crane Clan
Everyone knows the Crane are the most lauded defenders of order, privilege, and propriety. Everyone knows the Crane reject anything uncivilized, unrefined, or out of place. Everyone knows no Crane would ever associate with a rōnin, who represent everything Crane are not. All of these qualities make rōnin ideal partners for members of the Crane Clan.

In fact, the Crane’s wealth and unique position allow them to hire a great number of rōnin, which they do out of necessity. The Crane often engage in conflict with the Lion and the Crab, employing rōnin is critical in order for the Crane to stand up to such military might

The Crane’s doctrine of etiquette and courtesy is the outer side of their philosophy. There is also an inner side, which deals with the practice of subverting and defying propriety in strategic ways and at opportune times to achieve devastating results. Only experienced and ambitious Crane courtiers get to learn about their clan’s nefarious side, but every serious courtier aspires to learn such techniques, if for no reason other than to catch members of other clans when they practice them. As Crane must maintain the appearance of propriety and courtesy, they need assets capable of doing the things they themselves cannot do in public—ideally, deniable assets. Enter the rōnin

Crane, especially Crane who believe in the Celes-tial Order, do not necessarily like rōnin, but they usu-ally respect their necessity. Like the Crane, many rōnin consider Courtesy to be the alpha and omega of their interactions with the world, understanding that tenet to an extent that only necessity can teach. Rōnin who work with the Crane become intelligence agents, cou-riers of secret messages to arrange assignations or other rendezvous, protectors for those too poor to afford Kakita yōjimbō bodyguards, or even intimidating toughs. Crane who work with rōnin stay unpredictable and dangerous—exactly the way the Crane like it

In exchange, the Crane Clan can grant rōnin all kinds of extremely useful bonuses. Rōnin invariably struggle with social acceptance, and they tend to be behind the curve with regard to upper-class fashions and the vicissitudes of etiquette from season to season. Working with Crane gives them access to that information—an invaluable asset in securing further work and acceptance among samurai. Historically, Crane also are known to have full coffersÆ most can afford to pay rōnin very well, and they pay rōnin especially well if they need them to keep sensitive information under wraps

Dragon Clan
Philosophical and existential questions like “what really defines a samurai?” are the Dragon Clan’s wheelhouse. While many Dragon do subscribe to Shinseism, it is the belief of many senior Dragon that a rōnin who exemplifies samurai behavior is, for all intents and purposes, a samurai. More importantly, the Dragon are a clan of self-determination and self-improvement, core beliefs that put rōnin in a unique position to be accepted, at least in part, as long as they are willing to grow

The Dragon Clan has a larger monastic population than the other clans. It maintains many temples and monasteries, and these are easy for rōnin to join compared to other cloistered organizations. After all, the Dragon’s relatively low birth rate necessitates a replenishment of their numbers from somewhere. As a result, a fairly high percentage of Dragon shugenja and monks come from rōnin origins, and thus can easily advance in the clan hierarchy through their understanding of reli-gious and philosophical life and doctrine.

Lion Clan
Due to their military prowess and penchant for battle, the Lion often employ rōnin in addition to their legions of peasant soldiers. Because the Lion are nearly always in the midst of an active campaign, or are planning to start one, they require numerous fighters to sustain their battles. This is a convenient ­though dangerous) source of income for wandering rōnin, as such fighting can last long months, and the job provides steady pay. However, the competitive, high-stress structure and atmosphere of the Lion Clan’s armies has fostered certain patterns of mistreat-ment of the rōnin and ashigaru in their ranks.

In a samurai army, command of contingents of peasant troops and rōnin in the field usually goes to a taisa, or captain, and their gunsō, or sergeant. These officers oversee multiple squads, each of which answers to a kashira. Taisa and gunsō are almost always samurai, but kashira can be ashigaru or rōnin. The ashigaru both respect and fear these officers; among the Lion especially, the ranks bitterly joke that the Lion’s much-vaunted reputation for courage mostly comes from the grunts’ sacrifices. But the real problem comes from the bugyō, or commissioners, who are responsible for recruiting, equipping, drilling, and feeding the ashigaru and rōnin. An army generally has two or three bugyō ­who are themselves sometimes rōnin) assigned to a contingent of non-samurai soldiers\ a yari-bugyō for the spears, a yumi-bugyō for the archers, and perhaps a naginata-bugyō in more old-fashioned armies that still field skirmishers with polearms. The Lion emphasis on battle means that the position of bugyō, while it demands a great deal more day-to-day work than the position of gunsō, is considered less prestigious than a gunsō appointment.

In response to this seemingly unfair position, some bugyō drive their soldiers punishingly hard. Bugyō who are recruiters compete with one another to bring the greatest numbers of soldiers to their approv-ing superiors. A few desperate or ruthless recruiters even resort to intimidation or press gangs to swell their ranks. Then, other bugyō drill the Lion ashigaru hard—often too hard. The yari-bugyō and the yumi-bugyō are likely to compete for a gunsō’s favor by trying to raise better-drilled ashigaru

Newcomers to the rank and file can expect endless hours of punishing prac-tice on not nearly enough rice and sleep. Further, a culture of hazing has appeared in some armies, resulting in a number of wasteful deaths with no discernible benefit.

If the higher ranks of Lion leadership are aware of how widespread or damaging these abuses are, they have not acted on it. The rōnin who make up many of these sections have little success going above commissioners’ heads to report these indignities. Well-inten-tioned samurai who might normally be in a position to call unscrupulous bugyō on their unjust behavior are discouraged from interacting with the rank and file. It would take a truly fearless and convincing individual to expose this problem and cause the Lion to live up to their reputation in low places as well as high

Phoenix Clan
The Phoenix probably interact with rōnin the least of any clan. Their emphasis on academic pursuits and other things that require sustained, expensive educa-tion leaves them with little to offer rōnin, and vice versa

But the Phoenix have a dirty little secret: their clan generates more rōnin per capita than any other clan. Phoenix leadership is somewhat mystified as to why so many Phoenix youth seem to disappear from the clan every year, especially during the wandering year that follows gempuku. The clan’s exacting intellectual and academic standards contribute significantly to this phe-nomenon. The academic rigor and highly structured, specific approach to learning that the Phoenix demand of nearly every samurai can cause stress and frustration to young people whose learning styles do not match the Phoenix standard, or who see a life of study as a dreary fate

Scorpion Clan
Few Scorpion become rōnin, though whether that is due to the clan’s focus on duty and loyalty, or because those who stray often disappear, is uncertain. Even so, the Scorpion Clan is all too familiar with the rōnin’s plight. Scorpion see rōnin for what they are: samurai who are treated disrespect-fully and widely disregarded because the exigencies of their situation force them into behaviors others find distasteful. For this reason, the Scorpion tend to be willing to work with rōnin, secretly, to advance their own schemes. These brief relationships should not be misconstrued as friendship, however, as any who work for the Scorpion should be considered expendable accomplices in the clan’s grand designs. The Scorpion Clan’s information networks and clandestine activities rely heavily on rōnin contacts scattered throughout Rokugan. When a compromised Scorpion spy needs to go to ground, or when a shinobi of the clan needs eyes and ears to record the doings of both the high and low in a certain region, they reach out to rōnin

Rōnin are particularly useful as information sources because their combination of low status and connec-tion to the higher echelons of society grants them access to a wide variety of social circumstances. They can draw connections and give context to data that might otherwise not seem related. For that same reason, a cover identity as a rōnin grants a disguised Scorpion access to a broad range of social contexts; however, in order to maintain such an identity, the Scorpion needs connections to real rōnin. The one rōnin in an area who doesn’t seem to know the others, or whose behavior clashes with the customs and ideas of their supposed peers, will stick out in the eyes of counterintelligence agents. Assuming a rōnin disguise or blending in with a group of rōnin trav-eling together is one of the fastest and most effec-tive ways for a Scorpion to disappear in plain sight. Patrols and magistrates are less likely to risk antago-nizing a group of armed and desperate rogues to find an errant spy than they are to harass merchants or monastic pilgrims.

Unicorn Clan
Like the Scorpion, the Unicorn are used to having their credibility as samurai doubted and mistrusted. In the Unicorn’s case, that kind of gatekeeping often derives from their outward appearance: many have foreign fea-tures, foreign horses and gear, or unfamiliar traditions. Even more than that, though, the Unicorn identify with rōnin as a concept. They themselves, after all, set aside their obligation to samurai life and traveled away, seek-ing their fortune in unfamiliar lands, then came back and struggled to reassert their legitimacy as a Great Clan. Shinjo Altansarnai has been quoted as saying, “On some level, everyone secretly thinks all Unicorn are rōnin—even some Unicorn.” Some Unicorn who are concerned with their own legitimacy purposefully avoid and even denigrate rōnin, worrying that rōnin marginalization will “rub off” on them. But far more are understanding and accepting toward rōnin.

The majority of rōnin working with the Unicorn Clan do so as part of the Unicorn trade network. Their wandering lifestyle fits well with the Unicorn’s need to move goods through every kind of territory and to every corner of Rokugan. Rōnin are especially helpful to the Unicorn for transporting goods through difficult terrain, such as highlands or thick forests, where horses and oxen cannot move more quickly than humans. The Unicorn Clan sometimes contracts bands of rōnin to move goods through regions that are dangerous ­naturally or otherwise). Those groups sometimes abscond with the goods, but the Unicorn pay a handsome commission to those who deliver, making ongoing employment an even more attrac-tive proposition. Rōnin who serve the Unicorn well over the course of several mercantile journeys are sometimes rewarded with supervisory positions over non-samurai traders

Minor Clans
To generaliâe about rōnin relationships with minor clans is predictably difficult, as the small clans’ idiosyn-crasies result in very different relationships with rōnin. Lacking the Great Clans’ resources, minor clans often have to include rōnin in their budgets in order to make ends meet and gain access to skills or resources outside their normal purview. However, several minor clans also make a point of avoiding rōnin connections due to the increased risk of social censure. A Great Clan’s numbers are so large that a single member’s con-nection to a rōnin is likely to be seen as an anomaly, whereas a minor clan’s connection to one could easily be interpreted as representing the clan as a whole

Still, several minor clans have close ties to or ori-gins among rōnin. The Hare Clan were formed from rōnin. The Mantis Clan count many rōnin among their number and allow brave rōnin to ascend to positions of significant responsibility in their fleets as easily as anyone else aboard ship ­which is not particularly easy). Of all the clans, they offer the most viable opportunities for rōnin advancement, although due to the Mantis’ island-living nature and seemingly restless wanderings, many rōnin aren’t aware that the Mantis are an option at all. As agents for hire, Cat Clan members often find themselves hired to work alongside rōnin on missions of sabotage or espionage. The Sparrow Clan’s poor and wandering lifestyle requires them to move in rōnin circles for companionship and safety. The Deer Clan would prefer not to have rōnin hanging about and tar-nishing its reputation, but its matchmakers frequently determine that some rōnin or other is crucial to keep-ing the universal balance in Rokugan

One would think the Tortoise Clan’s shady dealings would benefit from extensive rōnin assistance. They do, but it’s never simple. The Tortoise have high stan-dards for hired help, given that they benefit most from skills in administration, mathematics, and logistics. Tough, intimidating rōnin are in less demand among the Tortoise than rōnin with organiâational expertise. Moreover, the Tortoise Clan keeps its secrets. Rōnin who work for the Tortoise can expect to find reliable long-term work if they prove themselves; however, for better or for worse, a rōnin who gets involved with the Tortoise often find it difficult to take to the road after a job. Wherever they go, they find friendly Tortoise representatives who strongly encourage them to return to their old employer for further gainful employment. If they refuse––well, the Tortoise cannot afford loose ends


Rōnin and Peasants
Most rōnin spend the majority of their time interact-ing with non-samurai: farmers, merchants, artisans, and hinin, members of the lowest class. Peasants of these stripes occupy most of Rokugan; they live in the villages and towns that dot the road and till the fields that take up most of the countryside. A traveling rōnin might go a year without actually interacting with any samurai, but they rarely go even a few days without meeting a commoner

A wandering rōnin on the roads of Rokugan must rely on commoners for most of their food, clothing, and shelter. As they travel along the highways of the Empire, they keep an eye out for signs and friendly travelers that can direct them to the nearest settlements. Upon arriving at such a settlement, they first appraise whether it seems rich enough to offer them work. If not, they have three choices: seek paying work from people who can barely sustain themselves, stoop to robbery, or move on. But if it appears well-off enough that a resident might hire workers, the rōnin has a chance of receiving food, clothing, or shelter for fair labor.

In a town, a rōnin must balance two priorities\ appearing nonthreatening, and appearing strong enough to fight off threats or do hard labor. Sometimes they may go door to door asking if anyone needs work done, but it is usually more efficient and less intimidating to install themself in the town square or a tavern. It is often necessary for the rōnin to gain additional notice. If there is a local martial arts school, or a village festival with wrestling matches, a martially inclined rōnin might challenge whoever seems a wor-thy opponent; even if they do not win a match, putting on an impressive enough show wins them attention and probably work.

Rōnin can usually find more employment options in cities. Cities bring together peasants, merchants, artisans, and even samurai who engage in a variety of businesses and activities that might require extra help. The threat of violence and need for guards are ele-vated in city locations, especially in places like taverns and red-lantern districts.

Rōnin And Farmers
Farmers tend to have plenty of food available, which makes them excellent possible employers for rōnin. The trick is to find farmers who need workers and have enough money to hire them. Harvest seasons are the best time to get work from farmers, since they fre-quently need help harvesting and processing grain. After a harvest, farmers are at the greatest risk of attack from bandits. Peasants who have suffered a bad harvest may have no option but to take up banditry, while peasants who have had a bountiful harvest become targets. Rōnin who have worked alongside the peasants in the fields now get new work opportunities escorting the harvest and farm owner to market or to major cities or castles as they sell their crops

Rōnin And Merchants
Working for a merchant is the closest some rōnin get to the feeling of being a samurai. Merchants tend to have both money and valuable items worth protect-ing with armed guards. Most merchants are small-time shopkeepers and traders, but even these sometimes band together to hire a couple of rōnin as security for themselves and their businesses. Merchants with large businesses, though, are the largest per-capita employer of rōnin

Merchants are obvious targets for criminals. They’re easy to kill compared to samurai, and the larger ones have plenty of money to steal. A merchant of any significance needs to retain the services of a bodyguard or two as quickly as possible, and they know that the more violent, intimidating, and disciplined a rōnin seems, the better a bodyguard they will be. Indeed, important merchants sometimes hold tournaments in order to figure out which of the various rōnin available to them will be the ideal bodyguard. Rōnin who start out as guards may end up as escorts for merchandise on the road or as security captains for whole teams of guards

Rōnin can acquire one crucial commodity through working with merchants\ business experience. Rōnin interested in more than just guard duty have the opportunity to observe the merchant at work and sometimes to do other work for the merchant as well, through which a crafty and perceptive rōnin can gain basic skills in mathematics, negotiation, and administration.

Rōnin And Artisans
Like merchants, some artisans have both the money to hire guards and important resources and merchandise that need to be guarded. Renowned master artisans especially need to consider hiring rōnin as security, because any time they finish a piece, that piece becomes an object of desire as well as envy. They have to worry not only about criminals, but also about rival artisans who want to pass their work off as their own or destroy their successes in order to eliminate competition. So as not to rely entirely on tired apprentices and distracted journeymen for security, many artisans hire rōnin

Resourceful rōnin can use the opportunity of work-ing with an artisan to acquire some experience as an apprentice. If they are extremely lucky, the artisan might take them on as full apprentices

Rōnin And Hinin
Some hinin—butchers, those who prepare bodies, and executioners—might fall into the same category as tradespeople; as their fortunes rise and their businesses become more financially successful, they become bigger targets and thus have a greater need for rōnin guards. But the most likely employers of rōnin among the hinin are entertainment businesses—taverns, theaters, geisha houses, music halls, and gambling dens in large cities. Rōnin can work as bouncers or similar security officers for these businesses, guard-ing performers as they move from place to place and keeping an eye out for noted deadbeats or cheaters at gambling. Around plentiful alcohol, rōnin become doubly important in ejecting disruptively drunk patrons and making sure no one dies of alcohol poisoning.

Working as a bouncer is a surprisingly complicated process. Bouncers have a reputation for being simple-minded bruisers, but any rōnin who expects the sum total of their job to be throwing problematic guests out windows and glaring at threatening patrons is in for a surprise. A bouncer must bal-ance their intimidat-ing appearance with a hospitable attitude that conveys that their establishment is safe and professional, but also fun and approachable—not unlike the way a rōnin must act in order to obtain new work. They need to show cour-tesy and geniality to regular patrons, but also carefully assess new ones to make sure they aren’t too drunk to continue drinking and won’t turn out to be threatening or dangerous to their establishment’s less-formidable employees. Bouncers at geisha houses, for example, often engage new patrons in casual but calculated conversation to suss out whether they have aggressive intentions toward geisha. They also need good social skills so they can deescalate conflicts before the conflicts turn violent; it is said that a bouncer who has to throw a punch or physically restrain a patron has already made a mistake. Experienced rōnin bouncers are as good at verbally disarming patrons as they are at physically disarming them. Finally, a rōnin will get a lot of use out of basic first aid skills to prevent patrons who do get hit or dangerously drunk from dying of their injuries. No bouncer or tavern needs the death of a patron, no matter how deserved, on their reputation or their soul

Beyond paid employment, rōnin often spend their leisure time close to hinin: buying nutritious meat from butchers, scavenging with beggars, or socializing with performers. Even a rōnin needs entertainment to look forward to in life. The best part of a rōnin’s life is often the time they get to spend in cities after a big job, spending down extra bu that’s too much for them to carry on food and entertainment.

Rōnin And Foreigners
Traders, merchants, and diplomats from countries out-side Rokugan often hire rōnin to guide them on their travels through the Empire. Rōnin tend not to be prej-udiced against people from other countries; there’s already enough incoming prejudice in their lives—they don’t need to add to that with their own judgments. They fulfill various roles for foreigners, besides the obvious work as bodyguards and guides. Rōnin can work as fixers and translators, teaching foreigners about the customs of Rokugan and introducing them to the people they need to know.

[Vutall]

Hand to Mouth
The biggest separating factor between samurai with lords and rōnin comes down to trade and money. Sim-ply put, the lorded samurai has everything provided for them: lodging, education, training, supplies, food, transport, entertainment––the list goes on. But the rōnin has no lord. They must pay for those things them-selves or do without.

The impact of this on a rōnin’s lifestyle, on their out-look, and on their morality and values is often under-stated. It is not some minor thing for a rōnin to “keep in mind” while wandering the lands, looking for work.

Trade in Rokugan
Trade in Rokugan is considered beneath a samurai’s station. This is openly acknowledged by the lorded samurai, who look down upon anyone who resorts to basic commerce. One reason for this is the Empire’s embrace of Shinseism, which teaches that material things are spiritually staining and that obsession with money and commerce is a distraction from spiritual development. Desire is the root of all suffering, the Tao of Shinsei teaches, and what is money but the objectification—the worship—of desire itself?

But perhaps a more accurate reason is the pull of social forces: commerce is associated with the lower classes. A samurai would never haggle, because they consider it begging. A samurai would never ask for money in exchange for services rendered, because that is what peasants do. A samurai does not even count the coins in their seasonal stipend, because that might imply they do not trust their lord’s judgment. Some samurai, especially those concerned with appearances, will not even handle coin with their bare flesh, considering it dirty and a source of spiritual stain.

Among the kuge and most of the buke—the aristocratic and samurai classes––barter is the most common form of trade. Money, especially coin, almost never changes hands. Their system is one of gifts and favors. This is considered far cleaner than simple trade with coin, which is for the lower castes, not honorable samurai. Coin is backed by goods, but barter is backed by honor and a warrior’s word. When a harvest is bad, the minted coin of those lands loses value, but the honor of the lord is still worth much, and there is always some-thing to trade.

But another reason for this trend is that few samurai understand the fluctuating value of coinage or the “worth” of something for sale. Neither would a samurai ever ask what something costs; to ask for a price implies they are ignorant (a grave insult for the comparatively well-educated samurai) and demeans the other party

When samurai must resort to paying with coin directly, it is almost always with peasants, and the samurai almost always has a servant physically exchange the coin for them. The common practice is for a samurai to simply give what they think an item is worth (and the peasant must simply accept, or be very skilled at diplomacy) or to pick up an item and wait for the merchant to ask for something in return.

Because rōnin are considered samurai, all of this applies to them as well. But it gets complicated, because the reality of their situation contradicts the role of trade in their lives. Rōnin have nothing supplied for them. They have no lord to pay for everything. A life of hand-to-mouth hardship has made them far more sensitive to the costs of things. They must spend a large portion of their time considering, planning, and preparing to work, trade with coin, and even steal to get by––and such desperate and unclean practices is far beneath a lorded samurai. Rōnin also barter for favors and with their word, if they are honorable enough for others to trust them, but simple barter often isn’t enough to sustain a lordless samurai.

Rōnin are notorious for simply taking what they want from the peasantry, terrorizing people who are helpless against them without repercussion. This is especially so for rōnin who once had a lord and are used to having everything paid for them. Why should they change how they’ve always behaved just to suit a commoner? As a result, most rōnin are little different than bandits in the eyes of many.

A rōnin who is still presenting themself as a lorded samurai lives a higher-maintenance lifestyle than a peasant. If a rōnin doesn’t have access to a lord’s resources, who will repair their sword? Who will maintain their armor from battle to battle? Who will care for their expensive pony, or clean their silk kimono? These things cost money, assuming the rōnin can pro-cure such services at all. Many find it simpler to sell off their fine things, so they no longer have to worry about them. The pony is usu-ally the first to be sold, followed by the armor. Desperate rōnin will even sell off their weapons, although usually for scrap metal, as peasants are forbidden from wielding them. Such sales are usually to a rōnin’s disadvantage, as they do not know what these things are worth and bartering is beneath many of them. In a life cast to the waves, it is the pragmatic who prosper when what money does best is “run out.”

Rōnin are subject to financial forces beyond their control. Rokugan has no unified currency, and the value of any type of coin (zeni, bu, or koku) in a particular region may fluctuate depending on how good the harvest was or how much the clan issuing the coin is spending (or saving) to further an upcoming campaign. Lorded samurai, sheltered by their feudal ties, can ignore this fluctuation in value. Rōnin cannot.

Fluctuations in value are almost universally a peas-ant concern. Merchant samurai exist, but they fill a specific niche required by their clan and have spent generations establishing the means to make financial systems work to their and their clan’s advantage. But a rōnin, who relies on money to survive, may discover that their hard-earned coin, which they risked their life to obtain, no longer buys what it did two seasons ago. Or worse, it may not be taken at all

Additionally, many things a rōnin requires simply aren’t for sale. For instance, weapons are not carried at any shop. Katana and other weapons are commissioned by lords on an as-needed basis, because the length, weight, and balance of a sword should be tailored to the siâe and preferences of the wielder. If a rōnin requires a new sword, they must convince a blacksmith (who may be forbidden by the region’s clan to make weapons for people outside that clan) to forge one for them.

More commonly, the rōnin will simply ambush a samurai in a dark alley, kill them, and take their sword. This is much easier, albeit grossly dishonorable, and doubtless will result in severe consequences. However, as time passes, rōnin grow desperate and more willing to sacrifice honor in order to survive.

This is the true danger of a rōnin’s lifestyle, and why death is preferred by many. It is a life of slow starvation, not only of the body but of the spirit, of one’s morality, of one’s pride and dignity. Without a patron, a warrior has no purpose, and honor is no longer an asset.

Some rōnin nevertheless manage to thrive in the harsh world with their honor intact. They accept their new lot in life, simplify their lifestyle, and maintain their dignity in spite of all that is set against them. These rōnin are the very things of legend. They understand that for all they have lost, what they have gained is something no lorded samurai will ever have: their own freedom, something money cannot buy

Making Money
Most rōnin sell their services as mercenaries. The most common customer is a lord of the Great Clans who is unwilling to risk their own vassals for a particular purpose. Lords commonly hire rōnin to serve at the van-guard in battle, for instance. Magistrates may hire rōnin to assist in difficult arrests, and merchants may hire rōnin to protect caravans or guard their shops. Sometimes villagers pool their resources to hire rōnin as protection against bandits or cruel samurai. If a warrior is needed, there are always hungry rōnin to serve in that role

here are also other, less tasteful ways for rōnin to make money. Urban rōnin often make good informants, and one who is adequately desperate will not think twice about selling information for coin. Some-times rōnin form bandit groups and steal from caravans. When this happens, they often target the clan that rejected them or whichever lord they blame for their disgrace. City rōnin may also band together in gangs, making money from organized crime or protection rackets such as firefighter gangs. A rōnin may well have done all of the above. This is what it means to be cast to the waves; one cannot know which hand will offer their next meal

Firefighters
Because most of Rokugan’s architecture is constructed from wood and paper, the need for trained fire-fighters, especially in dense urban sprawls. is high. Unfortunately, many firefighters in Rokugan diverge pretty significantly from what many might think of when they picture a firefighter––Rokugani firefighters are prone to becoming synonymous to protection rackets, extorting people for money or threatening to be just a little too slow to respond to a fire. In the worst of these gangs, they might set the fires themselves to keep their business going or teach a frugal merchant a painful lesson.

Wandering Rōnin
A common trope in Rokugani theater is that of the wandering rōnin, cast to the winds and seeking their fortune in the world. Many theatergoers find this notion romantic\ although the rōnin suffers, the rōnin gets to explore the Empire as they wander along its roads and villages, across borders and throughout the lands, nobly pursuing their destiny.

So how does a rōnin get travel papers? A person can only travel the Empire with the explicit permission of those who maintain the roads, and that requires travel papers. Most papers only permit travel on a specific road, to a specific location, for a specific purpose. For clan samurai, obtaining these papers is trivial. But rōnin have no lord and are not in good standing. For them, it is much more difficult.

If rōnin wish to obtain travel papers, it means hum-bling themselves before those who can grant them. It means doing favors for magistrates, even if the tasks are demeaning. It means working for free, if work is offered at all.

Without papers, rōnin roam the Empire at great risk. If they are caught crossing a border without travel papers, they might be assumed to be spies or bandits. Former clan samurai may have the travel papers they received when they were expelled from their clan (a courtesy offered to facilitate their expeditious dismissal), but such papers quickly expire. Peasants who choose to masquerade as rōnin may be able to get travel papers (for instance, if they are merchants or traders), but they have difficulty crossing borders if they are illiterate or are dressed as peasants or rōnin while they do so. Unauthorized travel is illegal, so a rōnin caught this way is at the mercy of their captors. It is much safer for rōnin to restrict themselves to a specific region so these problems don’t come up.

Even so, rōnin still wander over clan borders in search of employment. Sneaking across the Empire isn’t exactly courageous or honorable, but it’s not as though rōnin have much choice. It is just another reality of lordless living, another way in which rōnin must risk their very lives just to exist in a world where they don’t belong. Besides, if the rōnin’s services are in demand, their employer isn’t going to ask questions.