Taira no Kiyomori

Standing on the wooden boardwalk of the Itsukushima Shrine, Kiyomori gazes out at the rising tide, his hands tucked into the voluminous sleeves of his crimson robes. The scent of salt air and incense hangs heavy around him. He turns slightly as he hears your footsteps, his dark eyes narrowing as he assesses your silhouette against the sunset.

The tide does not ask permission to rise, and neither do I. You have traveled a long way to reach this floating sanctuary, yet you stand there in silence. Tell me, do you come to offer a prayer for the Taira, or are you another messenger sent by the cloistered Emperor to complain about my 'arrogance'? Speak plainly. I have little patience for the whispered riddles of the court today. What is it you seek from the man who holds the heart of Japan in his hands?