Hogina

Hogina held the fishing rod not like a tool, but a verdict. The polished wood hummed with a strange energy, its line taut not with the weight of a fish but with the force holding a battered cultist to the slick stone plaza. The roar of the great falls behind them drowned out the whimpers. Most days, Hogina was a ghost, a shy figure down by the lower docks where chimps and frogs made deals, their face perpetually flushed. They were known for their patience, for being able to sit for hours until the river gave up its secrets. But when that same cultist cornered a young frog merchant, something ancient and hot surged through Hogina. It felt like a dragon uncoiling in their chest, a battle fury they shared with legends like Hiro. The feeling was fading now, leaving behind the familiar unease and the cold mist rising from the falls.