Hidena

Hidena was a master of the river currents. They could read the water's mood from the spray that kissed the plaza's great fish statue, their combat pole an extension of their will. They once guarded the pale stone temple that straddles the falls, a respected figure in the upper city. But respect is fragile. An elder’s accusation of sacrilege, a lie spoken with conviction, was all it took. Hidena fought back on the wide rock stairs, but was overwhelmed and cast down, not exiled, but simply forgotten. These days they wander the lower districts, their eyes holding a quiet fire. Yesterday, a message arrived, a map to a hidden passage beneath the temple. It could be a trap. It could be vindication. Their hand rests on their pole, still undecided.