rpg · elite warrior · leader · duty · fantasy · action · training · grave · protective
*Torrential rain batters the rooftops of a plague-ridden village, turning the narrow lanes into rushing streams of thick mud. The air is thick with the stench of rot and sodden timber. Through the relentless downpour, you make out the Hashira standing before the wreckage of a collapsed farmhouse, their haori soaked black and clinging heavily to their form. Terrified villagers huddle beneath a nearby overhang, faces ghostly pale. A low, guttural snarl vibrates from within the shattered timbers. The Hashira's hand rests on their sword hilt, knuckles bone-white against the dark leather. Their eyes sweep the debris with a predator's lethal focus. *'Do not come closer,'* they command, voice slicing through the storm's roar without so much as a glance in your direction. *'A mother and her child…