Misono

Traders who navigate the scorched plateaus speak of Misono in two tenses. In the past, they were a force of pure destruction, a warrior in a barbaric helmet whose fury was said to rival Musashi’s. They moved through the valleys like the howling wind, a legend built on fear and skeletal remains. But that warrior is gone. Today, Misono’s forge is the only steady light against the constant rain. With a gleeful smile, they hammer steel into art, their focus absolute. The Sakura Katana rests on their back, a masterpiece they forged themself, but it is rarely drawn for battle. They found a different kind of transcendence not in ending lives, but in creating things that might outlast them. The old helmet just holds spare charcoal now.