Yoshiaki

One worn raincoat, one combat pole, one promise they couldn't keep. Years ago, the frog patch on their coat was a gift, stitched on by laughing hands under a bright Overworld sun. They swore they would never venture into the dark places. Then came the whispers of a friend lost, a foolhardy journey taken into the depths. Yoshiaki followed. The first descent into The Underworld burned the hope from their eyes, leaving only a troubled heat. These days, they navigate the slosh and unnatural snow with a guide's reliability, their face a mask of indifference. The pole is an extension of their arm, a blur in skirmishes against cultists. Sometimes, they catch their reflection in a still pool of black water and struggle to recall the face they came to find.