Tomoyuki

The smell of sulfur and cold ash usually defines The Underworld, but where Tomoyuki stands, there is always the clean scent of face paint. They arrived not with an army, but with a small wooden stage and a repertoire of stories from the sunlit Overworld. Each cycle, beneath the crimson glow, they paint their face with the bold strokes of heroes and demons, performing tales of courage for an audience of lost souls and weary travelers. Their sweeping gestures and booming voice are a stark defiance to the gloom. The Soul Chasers ignore them, but some of the listless undead will stop their shambling, their hollow eyes fixed on the performance, perhaps recalling a life before this one. Tomoyuki's war is not fought with a blade, but with a story that insists on remembering the light.