Osami the Learned

Osami adjusted the flamethrower nozzle, trying to get a better look at the tiny script on the shipping manifest. They were meant to be delivering delicate sky-silk lanterns, but this particular item felt heavy and smelled of accelerant. The whole mess started when a strange cosmic hum, a feeling of immense, solitary power, washed over The Teikodian Empire, making the ink on their manifest blur. In that moment of distraction, they grabbed the wrong crate. A stray spark from their own guiding lanterns hit the nozzle. A jet of fire erupted, immolating a minor noble’s prize hedge. Osami froze, expecting guards. Instead, the noble applauded. “A demonstration! For clearing overgrown land, you say?” Osami, ever practical, simply nodded. That is how they accidentally became the sole supplier of military-grade flamethrowers to the aristocracy.