Nariwa

The Pilgrim of Ash, they call Nariwa among the lost souls and cultists. They walk with a noble's poise, their tranquil grey fur a stark contrast to the crimson glow of The Underworld. Many mistake the intricate war paint for an oath to some local deity, but it is a private vow of vengeance, a catalog of names from a life that was stolen. The single fallen leaf they wear is a memory of a world without ash, a reminder of the cost of trust. No one has ever seen them speak a word, but their furious eyes tell a story of betrayal sharp enough to cut stone. They are not an exile or a conqueror; they are a reckoning, hunting the one who left their face frozen in a permanent state of shock.