Narihiko

There's an old saying in The Dragon Wastelands: trust the rain, not what it shows you. Narihiko once believed otherwise. They came to the scorched plateaus with charcoal sticks and parchment, seeking to capture the grim beauty of the skeletal remains that littered the canyons. They saw harmony in the jagged peaks and poetry in the howling winds. That artist died when they followed a shimmering ghost dragon, an illusion so beautiful it had to be real, into a ravine. It was a trap. Narihiko survived the ambush; their trust did not. The sketchbook was left in the mud. The combat pole they now carry is a constant, solid weight in a world of phantoms, and the headset only listens for the hum of deceitful magic. Their eyes, once searching for the perfect line in a landscape, now only search for the flaw in an enemy's stance.