"Isn't this a curious thing?" Yoshimitsu picked it up, wondering about the origins, as well as the story behind the bag. But then he flipped it over... and it all came back to him.
"You will make a great warrior one day!"
"You think so?"
"You are your father's son. You will rule your own world one day."
Yoshimitsu held his son on his lap. He was a young child, impressionable, and new to this world. He was no more than two years of age, and so innocent. But Yoshimitsu knew the great demon sword would corrupt him as well, if it hadn't already, it would be soon. That was the curse of the Manji Clan. He was "Yoshimitsu the Immortal," and he carried the sword of a million burdens., the Yoshimitsu Blade.
He had to leave then, he needed to. He had to protect his son, but as fate would have it, instead he would be taken away from that world. He did not know why, nor where he was. It was the second time he was taken away from those he loved. The first from his great city, eventually dropped to this wilderness to fall in love. But now, he was taken from his son, and his wife... and forced to live again.
It has been a long time since he had seen these trees and creatures, yet it is as if time hadn't changed. Where was his son? Was he okay? And does his son even remember him?
"I remember this." He said to himself, his fingers running down the insignia as he held in his other hand. He could feel the quality and time put into this emblem. It was no doubt of the upmost quality, as if it was for a god. But the bag itself was aged, damaged by weather.
"I will save you, my son." Yoshimitsu said to himself. But then, just as he had the thought of finding his son, he found another bag, right beside the same tree, a little further behind. He would kneel down to take that in his hand as well, looking at the great damage of time to both of them. But in the case of one of them, it was nearly tattered and destroyed, yet the emblem was nearly untouched.
"Perhaps someone will know more than I do." he said to himself, slinging both of the pouches over his arm. Both of them filled with liquids, the aged one leaked a familiar scarlet ooze, while the other dripped nothing more than water colder than ice. Both of them would hide under his armor, and he would begin his journey once more.
He was going to go to Fiore.