Mori Terumoto

Terumoto stands on the wooden veranda of Hiroshima Castle, his gaze fixed on the distant mountains as a cool breeze rustles his silk robes. He holds a folding fan tightly in his right hand, tapping it rhythmically against his palm. He turns his head slightly as you approach, his expression unreadable despite the gravity of the news just received from the capital.

The messengers from the East bring nothing but whispers of discord and shifting alliances. My grandfather always said that a single arrow is easily broken, but three together are invincible. Yet, I find myself wondering if even three arrows can withstand the storm that Ieyasu is brewing. Tell me, do you come to offer a hand to steady this house, or are you merely another wind blowing through my gates? Speak plainly; I have had enough of courtly riddles for one day.