"Riichi."
The dimly lit back room of the mahjong parlor, already an establishment with a less than stellar reputation, was awash in a hazy wall of dark gray smoke. The air was thick with the stuff, suffocating, an affront to the eyes, the nose, and especially the lungs. Yet for the four gathered around the table, none of them seemed to mind or even acknowledge the atmosphere. For them, the only thing that mattered were the tiles and the considerable amount of money each game cost.
At the west end of the table was the man who called 'riichi'. An aged man with a thin beard and a brow so furrowed it was amazing he could see at all. The wrinkles on his face told a story that his cane completed. Every reach he made for a tile was with a hand that was more bone than skin. Once the owner of a sandy red head of hair, now there were only liver spots. His tanned complexion marked him as a man from the Land of Wind, home of Sunagakure.
"You forgot something."
The man opposite man from the Land of Wind occupied the east end of the table. While younger than the man seated across from him, his glory days of youth were still well past. He, at least, had aged semi-gracefully. Hardly any wrinkles, what hair he had was down to his beard and was naturally grey, and the most telling thing about him were his glasses. Dark skin suggested his origins in the Land of Lightning, home of Kumogakure.
"Of course, of course. You never let me forget." The man from the Wind country placed a heavy stack of ryo coins on the table. At a glance, there were easily fifty coins top to bottom, placed in the center, joining two other stacks of coins surrounded as they were by bills.
"Gotta keep you honest. Last time we met, you stiffed the lot of us." The man from Lightning's tone suggested humor but no one was laughing. Not with these amounts at play. "When are you going to stop using coins, old man. They're as much a burden as your son."
"You know how he is. Traditional." The man at the north end of the table was the only one who cracked a brief smile at the mention of burdens and useless sons. He could relate, though at least his son had the good sense to get himself killed in the last war. The Tsuchikage at the time couldn't even be bothered to recall then name of the man who had taken an attack meant for them. The man was, in his day, an imposing figure of hardiness, but now he walked with a bad back and at a hunch. Still, his face showed his life experiences in every pore and every seam; even the ivory white hair growing around his ears told its own story. The man at the north end was clearly a man from the Land of Earth, home of Iwagakure.
"Tradition is what got us here."
"What got us here was connection."
"Speak for yourself. I'm only here for the women. Something about these country hicks, they raise them better."
As if on cue, a serving girl entered the room with a tray of sake and four cups. As soon as she stepped foot in the room, she let out a hacking cough, turned her head to cough more, and promptly apologized before setting the drinks down and departing for cleaner air. "To tradition, then."
The sake cups were passed around the table and a toast was readied by the trio. "What's the matter? The host is too good to toast?" All eyes fell to the man at the southern end of the table.
The man at the southern end of the table looked as if he was on death's door. Sunken, blank eyes, a thin mustache and thinner beard, he looked as if a strong breeze would knock him over, and yet his movements were the most graceful, his fingers the most nimble, and his voice the clearest. He was truly a man from the Land of Fire, home to Konohagakure.
"Tradition is a funny thing... "Tradition is a funny thing. Whenever these exams come around, it's tradition that we all meet, gamble away more money than we deserve to have, and watch with eager, giddy anticipation as children beat the ever loving blood out of each other to raucous applause. It's like human chattel fighting for a scrap from the table. Is that what tradition is worth? Is that the tradition we should be celebrating?"
The three others at the table stared at the Fire Country native as if he was speaking in tongues. A silence as heavy as the wall of smoke filled the room until one by one the other three set their sake glasses down. "Oy oy, what's gotten into you? You wanna talk about what we deserve, we worked hard to get where we are. You lucked out because your brother is the daimyo!"
"And your son..." "is the only reason you took a political job away from Iwagakure. You didn't earn anything, and you do the memory of your son dirty. The four of us are no better than the people who gamble on the exams. We just hide our justifications behind the excuse of telling our respective daimyos if the ninja villages deserve additional funding. Do you think if the ones taking the exam knew the truth that they would be so keen? Perhaps just because something is tradition doesn't make it correct. After all, why should only villages in the Great Countries be seen as viable? Because of...tradition?"
A fist slammed onto the mahjong table, knocking over the stacks of ryo coins and some of the tiles in front of the men sitting there - except for the tiles in front of the man of Fire. His tiles remained in place.
"What the hell do you know? Huh? This is the way of the world. This is how things are. It's easy to talk mess but you've profited just as we have."
"All I know is... "tradition. Traditionally I lose these games of ours. Tsumo." Using tiles that fell over into the right pile, the man of Fire completed his hand and revealed himself as the winner. The other three raised their voices in unison while the money slid from the center of the table to the man of Fire's side.
Next to the man from Fire was a dark curtain, all but invisible in the dim haze. A hand, healthy, young, with slender, beautiful fingers, reached out from behind the curtain to slide stacks of money to the other side. On the other side of the curtain, the same hands were holding a long pipe that was billowing smoke throughout the back room. A lone figure sat, smoking a pipe in one hand while listening well to the conversation going on just on the other side of the curtain. A pair of lips took a drag from the pipe and blew more smoke out just before they began to silently mouth words. Words that then came out of the mouth of the man at the southern end of the table. Words that were not that man's, but the words of the mysterious smoking figure.
"I'm merely suggesting that perhaps it's time for...something new. Why should generations of the past decide the course of the present and the future? What has tradition gotten us? Rich? A dead son? A wife who doesn't love you? Personally...I'm tired of tradition. I want to see something...new."
Just as the words were finished being echoed by the man playing mahjong, a man in a chuunin vest and with the headband of the Leaf entered the curtained area, dropping down to both knees in deference.
"My Lord, the second stage of the exam has begun. Ours are in place."
The one who was called 'Lord' took an extended drag from the pipe as their lips curled into a delightfully devious smile. When the words came, they were the words of the 'Lord' alone, echoed by no one.
"Now we can truly begin."
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Khyron Shadowfang
Festive
Damycles
Izurich
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Aces Away
Crimson Flame
Red Helix
mattmanganon
Kaithe Dame