Blackfeather Woods the assassin's road

a hum of question upon the black furred man's tongue. samurai eyes watching, sliding between this warlord and shinjou, chin lifting once to look down upon both men of shorter stature.
i am masa of the akashita clan. a name spoken with the highest caliber of honor upon his wetted tongue. first sword to lord hikone. his rightful son. upon introduction, masa offers one dip of his head.
it is all he may offer in the name of keeping peace. masa is not a violent man, undue. only if he must be.
he steps closer, stride the ghosting of clouds in the sky. with ease, muscle coiling. kikyō of black mountain. warlord. where is your clan? where are your swordsmen, your herald, your retinue?
one could not be warlord without followers. without sworn swords. he says they are coming—but masa questions this, with the biting of his dull yellow gaze.