Requests to the Quartermaster

The quartermaster's office has been inserted in the Legion's storage area, detached from the regular barracks of the Genbu. It is effectively a singled-out part of its largest warehouse, sitting across one of its entryways, the other much wider and locked solid unless bulk quantities of provisions are brought in or out.

The office room itself is indeed a passageway. The lockable wooden screen to the left leads to the warehouse proper, the one to the right to Karoshi's personal quarters. The only wall without a door, the one opposite to the entrance, is occupied by a monumental set of shelves, filled up to the ceiling with scrolls containing inventories, reports, catalogues and rosters - it takes a small ladder to reach those farthest up. If one has ever an opportunity to peek into their contents, it becomes obvious that despite the quality of their calligraphy they are sets of codes and abbreviations, indiscernible without serious deciphering effort. What's more, there is no apparent order in their placement, and yet Karoshi always knows exactly where the required one is located. If for some reason the Legion needed a new quartermaster, Karoshi's successor would waste weeks if not months to get a grasp of the system and in the end would likely find it more prudent to start his own from scratch.

The room itself is unadorned, austere even. The quartermaster's desk is more like a low counter, with documents piled on it, kept in place by a small paperweight statue of Ebisu-kami. The cushions available for visitors are decisively not a pinnacle of comfort and style, but the host's is actually no better. Since there is virtually no wall space for tapestries and other decorations, one would expect at least the wooden screens to be less plain. And in a way they are, displaying aesthetic calligraphy.

'Warehouse - Do not enter without permission' on the left one.
'Private Area - Do not enter' on the right.
'Exit' behind the visitor's back.

All ascetic Lion, Crab and Dragon may feel like home. Almost.

Karoshi receives requesters and supplicants with his back to the only solid wall in the room, the shelved one, exposing them to the discomfort of always having a door behind them. He usually receives them with a strong, unrefined soldier's tea he brews himself as he allows no heimin to wander in the area. The tea kicks the head and the guts like a drunk stevedore and is bitter like the life of his wife. In other words, it brutally awakens while leaving a bad aftertaste.

If you still did not get the clue that it is hardly a place for social calls, consider the usual air of the room. It's heavy. As there are no windows there, it is aerated only when the exit door stays open, and it rarely does. However, it's not the scent of dirt or old sweat - the room is always neatly tidied up and the host is as pristinely hygienic as circumstances allow. It's the heavy odour of smoke, both from candles and from incense used across the warehouse to discourage the moths and other pests from making feasts on the Legion's supplies. It is admixed with a pervasive citrus scent from Karoshi himself. A more sensitive nose may discern that the smells of sick person also add to the vapour. There may be other olfactory factors at work here as well, but the net effect is nevertheless pretty stifling.

No visitor is ever left alone in this room. The precaution is only natural since controlling the safety of the Legion's provisions is Karoshi's responsibility and he would not burden anyone else with it.

Karoshi is not at the office all the time. Either check if you are lucky to find him there or make an appointment in reasonable hours.