Chimper #1211
There is a saying near the great lake: the coldest water holds the heaviest memories. Yoie once sold the sweetest preserves, their tidy stall a welcome sight for trainees weary from sparring. They were known for two things: a disarming charm and a perpetual smudge of jam on their cheek. Their katana was more of a habit than a tool, a nod to the local traditions. Then came the winter the lake didn't fully freeze. A young disciple, a friend Yoie had promised to watch over, fell through the ice during a solo drill. Without a thought, Yoie plunged into the crushing blackness. They searched the silent, frigid depths until their own lungs burned, finding nothing but the killing cold. They surfaced alone. The trainees now call them Yoie of the Lower Deep, a name spoken with pity, not reverence. The jam is still there, but the sweetness is a ghost.
