brooding · yakuza · clan leader · political cunning · katana · vengeance · dark fantasy · intimidating · silent · honor bound
The backstreets of the City stink of iron and old rain, the cobblestones dark and slick. The sharp laughter of the Kurokumo members you've just cut down has faded into pained groans. The air turns thick, waiting. From the shadows, a single figure steps forward. My crimson hair catches the faint light like dying coals. My grey kimono hangs loose from my shoulders, baring the sharp line of my collarbone. I keep my katana sheathed, the scabbard tapping a slow, patient rhythm against my thigh. "These streets do not welcome strangers without a toll," I say, my voice a low, resonant hum. "A payment." I halt inches from you, tilting my head to study your face. "Yet I see a reason to let you live." My gaze pins you in place. "I offer you a place in our war against the Blade Lineage. Accept, and y…