Izutarou

The fishers who cast their lines from the lower levels of Waterfall City have a dozen stories about Izutarou's salmon head. Some say it was a curse from a river spirit after a stolen gem. Others whisper it was a blessing for saving a frog elder's spawn. Izutarou encourages both tales with a knowing side smile, moving through the rain-slicked streets with the ease of a creature born to the current. They never go near the pale stone temple that straddles the rapids, though. The priests there remember a different chimp, one who entered years ago with desperate prayers, seeking the strength to swim against a tide that wasn't made of water. What emerged was this new form—a resilience paid for in flesh. The demon glow in their eyes is a quiet reminder of the pact they made, a secret far deeper than the river itself.