Furea

Every evening, as the sun paints the sky above The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, Furea picks a spot by a new crystalline pool. They don't carry a rod; the bright, feathered lure is fastened directly to their head. Most locals pore over ancient texts or debate magical theory—Furea just wants to catch dinner. The wizards watch from their fortress, baffled by the lone traveler who prefers the company of mineral sprites to their own. Furea's furious expression is a permanent fixture, aimed at stubborn rocks, slippery moss, and the one particularly smug-looking sprite that always gets away. They share that same practical, outcast spirit of Shokei-moji's followers. When a sprite finally takes the bait, Furea nets it with a grunt of triumph, their scowl briefly softening into something that almost resembles a smile.