Kuume

Kuume can chart a course through the most treacherous mountain passes by moonlight alone, yet they flinch every time a shadow moves too quickly. The guards at the golden spires of The Teikodian Empire have a betting pool on how long they’ll stay each visit. “Used to be more trusting,” one of the older sentinels claims, polishing a helm. “Took on any client with enough coin. They were the one who guided Uragirimono through the capital’s hidden ways, before the betrayal was revealed.” Some whisper the carved cane Kuume carries was a gift from that very journey. They sell maps of forgotten routes but never their company, speaking only in clipped sentences, their eyes always scanning the rooftops. They look like someone who has seen the whole world, but not like someone who enjoyed the view.