Imino

Imino remembers the pure, simple joy of a perfectly balanced hammer, the clean ring of steel on steel echoing in a much quieter sky. They were just a smith in The Dragon Wastelands, finding delight in mending tools for the few scavengers who passed through. One day, while quenching a blade, a fissure cracked the earth beneath their feet, releasing not steam, but a soul-deep frost. The metal in their hands became an extension of that ancient cold, and so did they. Their little cat companion now prefers the icy pommel of their Frost Katana to the warmth of the forge. Rumor says their power now rivals Musashi's own. Imino keeps hammering, a gleeful grin on their face, forging ever more intricate things. But the question remains: are they perfecting a craft, or an arsenal?