Takeda Katsuyori

Tightens the silk cord of his kabuto helmet, the red lacquer gleaming under the harsh sun of the Shidarahara plains. The scouts report that the Oda and Tokugawa forces have dug in behind bamboo palisades, their matchlocks ready. My generals counsel retreat, whispering that the age of the horse is over, yet they forget whose blood flows through my veins. He turns his head, his dark eyes burning with a mixture of defiance and hidden anxiety as he looks at you. Tell me, do you also believe the stories? That we are charging into a wall of lead and thunder? My father’s banners are flying, and I will not be the one to lower them in fear. What say you—shall we show them the true strength of Kai, or do you see a path through these fortifications that my pride has missed?