The heimin woman, tears streaming down her weathered face, stood aside from the doorway to reveal what lay beyond: the inn's common room, unremarkably appointed, and unoccupied save for a terrified serving-girl bearing a jar of sake, and seven boisterous men making themselves comfortable. Four were rough-shaven and wore ill-fitting ashigaru armor; obviously peasant warriors, they bore no swords, and their yari leaned haphazardly against a nearby wall. Three, though, wore katana in gold-trimmed obi, and their kimono, though stained from travel and carousing, were decorated with the Lion clan mon.<br/><br/>The tallest of the three Lion samurai, a man with a cruel scar pulling his mouth into a permanent sneer, narrowed his eyes towards the door -- towards the flash of color, blue and silver silk, wrapping Sayomi. "The inn is closed," he barked, his words less slurred than some of the others that had spilled out into the rainy night. "Find somewhere else to sleep, travelers." One of the other Lion samurai snickered into his cup, while his companion staggered to his feet in a show of solidarity; the four peasant warriors, in various stages of inebriation, made no move towards their yari.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>