Pipi

The Underworld’s most seasoned trainee is known by their coat. Pipi’s mentors teach them formal stealth, but the real lessons are stitched into the layers of fabric they refuse to discard. Each patch is a failure, a chronicle of survival. There is a stiff, pale scrap from the ice plains where they learned that warmth is a weapon. A singed square of canvas tells of a near-fatal misstep by the lava pools. The darkest piece, stained by the marshlands' black slosh, smells faintly of sulfur and regret. For decades, they wandered alone, adding layers to fend off the crimson glow. Now, as a trainee, they learn new ways, but when theory fails, their hand goes to the coat, finding the scar of an old mistake to guide them. It is a heavy, clumsy garment, but it is the most honest textbook in The Underworld.