Satona

Satona clung to the sun-warmed marble of a high balcony, their breath a silent mist behind the ninja mask. Below, Imperial guards marched in perfect sync, their gold-trimmed armor blinding in the Teikodian Empire’s perpetual sunlight. They were guarding against assassins and spies, not a chimp attempting to document the nesting habits of the exceedingly rare Crimson-Crested Spire-lark. People see the mask, feel the chilling focus inherited from the great Tora, and assume a purpose of grave importance. They are half right. The focus is real; Satona can remain motionless for days analyzing a single feather. But the fruits of these expeditions are not state secrets. They are detailed sketches and molted plumage, proudly projected by their Displayoooor for any to see.