The recent thread regard Yoshimo's history got me all inspired to put down my version of what might have occured to get him out of his homeland and all the way across the world to Faerun. Hopefully you find this interesting.
Chapter 1
Rain poured down in torrents, soaking everything. The city streets became swampy, and mud oozed between the boy's toes, turning his sandal-clad feet brown. His eyes scanned the nearby buildings, looking for shelter. An alley way served his purposes well enough, keeping most of the wind off of him, though the rain still found him. All in all he was a muddy, miserable mess, but he cared little for that.
What he really cared about was his growling stomach. He hadn't eaten since two days before, and though he had been able to find water enough to quench his thirst, water alone was not enough to nourish his growing body. He had no money though, nothing he could trade to buy food except his katana, and he wasn't going to give that up, so he starved.
There was one option left open to him, though it was one he was loath to rely on. He was quick of hand and foot, but theft was often punished mercilessly. He wanted to eat so that he could live, and he didn't like the idea of risking his life to do it. Still, there was little other choice. It was either theft, or begging and rummaging through garbage. He would rather risk his life than beg.
So then, theft it was. He peered out of the alley watching as crowds of men and women hurried by, heedless of the rain and wind. Some were merchants, taking their goods in doors to protect them from the sudden summer shower, others were messengers, servants and armed samurai going about their business. A few others, outcasts like himself, shied away from the throng of people, hiding from the weather and the heartless, hateful gazes of the masses. No one liked a beggar. No one respected a ronin. The boy was all too conscious of that.
His wary eyes kept track of the other street trash, watching them as they went about their business. He noticed how their eyes followed those who dressed well, but carried no swords. Those were their targets, and so they would be his targets too. The fat, complacent merchant men, the careless message boys, they were the ones to strike. He watched for techniques too. He saw how they worked in pairs, one distracting the victim while the other picked his pockets. They worked alone too, though he guessed that was more dangerous. More profitable too. If he worked alone he wouldn't have to share the profits with anyone. The money that paid for food and shelter for two would go farther for one. He would work alone, he decided. He had no desire to trust any of his fellow unfortunates, nor did he think that he could trust them. Within two weeks he had already fallen this low, how far had they fallen, those other boys who seemed to effortlessly relieve others of their valuables? They could not be trusted.
He watched the flow of traffic for an entire day, putting his concerns of food out of his mind. There was little else he could do; he couldn't learn the tricks of his new trade all in a few hours. Besides, it would be safer to work under the cover of dark. That way it would be harder to find him if he was discovered.
The rain was still pouring down by the time the sun had set and the boy left his alley to search out a target. The darkness had done little to lessen the flow of people moving through the streets, and in some areas of the city there were more people about than there would have been during the day. It was to those places that he went. The places where brothels and bars clustered together were the best places, he decided. A drunk man would be easier to steal from. Those who were so far into their cups that they couldn't tell that they had been robber deserved what they got. He found a good place to hide near a busy tavern and settled in to wait.
The hours went by, and even this place became near deserted, and still he had not found a suitable target. Only poor, filthy men who in all likelihood needed the money more than he did. He couldn't rob them, first of all because they probably had no money on them, and second of all, even if they did have money it wouldn't be enough to get him anything worthwhile. He would have to rob ten such men to get a decent meal.
Then his eyes fell on a lone man, well dressed, but swaying slightly. He didn't seem as drunk as many of the others that wandered this street, but then again he was alone, and he looked like a good mark. The boy crept out of his hiding place and followed behind the man at a distance. He was inexpert at this art, if there was an art to it, but he managed, with some difficulty, to keep his target in sight.
Suddenly the man vanished, and the boy, though he scanned the crowd in earnest, could find no sign of him. With a weary sigh he continued down the street until he found another dark hiding place, a three-sided box made by two buildings and a garden wall. He sighed and his stomach rumbled. It was beginning to look like he would go another night without food. He turned his eyes toward the street again just in time to see a dark shape block his view. He scrambled to his feet, but not quickly enough, for he felt himself being lifted by the front of his clothes and thrown hard against the garden wall and held there.
“What did you think you were doing, brat?” It was a man's voice, and it carried the stink of alcohol. “Did you think you could rob me?” He slammed the boy against the wall again. “Did you!?”
The boy squirmed. “Sorry… I'm sorry…”
“You know the punishment for theft, don't you?” The man demanded.
“Y-yes.”
“Then why risk your life and the lives of your family?”
The boy said defiantly, “I've got no family!”
The man laughed harshly. “Then no one will miss you, will they?”
Now the boy was very afraid, but he wasn't going to show it. “Kill me then. I'd rather die by your blade than by starvation!” It was true, he realized.
“Would you now? But you would rather steal than die by any means, right?”
“Of course!”
“Where's your honor?”
“I have honor! But it means nothing if I die disease ridden and starved in the mud.”
The man laughed again. “You are wise beyond your years,” he said. “What's you name?”
“Yoshimo,” the boy answered.
“Well, Yoshimo-of-no-family, I have an out for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“In exchange for your life, you become my pupil. I can teach you how to live here, on the streets, and how to make the rich merchants and noble samurai beg you to help them.”
“Why should you do that?”
The man shrugged and let him go. “Ever since my last apprentice died I've been looking for a new one. It's hard to find someone with the will to operate in my business, and you might make an acceptable replacement. Now make up your mind, brat, agree, and you will live in comfort, decline and you will die here and now.”
“Not much of a choice, is it?”
“No, not really.”
“I agree, of course.”
The man clapped him on the shoulder. “Good. Follow me, and I'll lead you to riches that you've never even imagined could exist.”
The two of them left the alley, no longer predator and prey, but master and student.
