Katsunori

Katsunori held the stone path together with sheer will, the spray from the falls dampening their messenger cloak. They used to delight in this work in Waterfall City, making the rock stairs dance for laughing children or raising small, flowered pillars for the fishing frogs. Their geomancy was a game, a joyful extension of their spirit as they ran scrolls from the main plaza to the pale stone temple. That changed the day they tried to create a bridge too fast during a pirate raid. The message was urgent, and their companion was faster. To help, Katsunori raised a span of raw rock, but it was brittle. It crumbled mid-step. The message, and their friend, were lost to the roaring water below. These days, their earth magic is silent and functional, their face a mask of neutrality, ensuring every stone under their feet is unyieldingly solid.