Rokugan

The Emerald Lands, or “Rokugan” in the tongue of its people, comprise a vast, majestic countryside that stretches nine hundred miles from the pine valleys and snow-capped peaks of the Great Wall of the North mountains at one end, to the austere Carpenter Wall standing vigil along the country’s desolate southern border. Beyond the Wall lies the Shadowlands, a blighted land tainted by the influence of Hell itself, and dangerous for even the most legendary heroes to step foot within. At its widest point, Rokugan measures six hundred miles, from the Sea of the Sun Goddess in the east to the Burning Sands in the west.

Within its borders, bountiful plains ripple gold in the sunlight, and primordial forests hide mysterious spirits and dangerous creatures. Hot springs straddle mountain ranges and hills laden with precious gems and minerals. Countless rivers, lakes, and streams wend their way toward the ocean, where fish, seaweed, and pearls are netted by divers and fishermen. Crimson torii mark the gateway to sacred spaces, which exist alongside the sprawling cities and huddled hamlets of human civilization. Each of the seven Great Clans presides over a different corner of the Empire, protecting the natural harmony of the land and the kami that dwell there. Shrines and temples dot the landscape, marking places of spiritual power and contemplation. Fortifications large and small protect roads, bridges, mountain passes, and the domains of great lords. In the shadows of these castles, towns and villages prosper from the efforts of craftspeople and artisans.

Beyond the city limits, peasants toil over rice paddies and fields of grain, or hunt and gather the bounty of the forests. To travel the Empire on its few roads, samurai must obtain special papers and pay a tax toward their upkeep. Merchants’ carts and horses are banned from the Imperial highways altogether, forcing them to rely on special trade routes to carry goods between cities. Given the size of the Empire and the difficulty of journeying, few get to witness the variety of the Empire’s vistas in one lifetime. Instead, citizens are deeply in tune with the natural cycles of the provinces they call home. The Heavens bring four seasons to the Empire, which are celebrated by festivals and arts. In the spring, the delicate fragrance of cherry blossoms wafts from misty gardens. Summer heralds rains and oppressive heat, slowly giving way to autumn’s brilliant scarlet leaves, shrill cicada cries, and typhoons. Winter buries the lands in deep snow, closing mountain passes and driving the citizenry to the warmth and comfort of the hearth.