Fuari the Reliable

The smell of rain on hot marble always brings Fuari back to the night their commission in The Teikodian Empire ended. They were a captain in the Emperor’s guard, known more for a playful quip than any tactical genius. They dismissed a frantic warning as courtly drama, a joke to be laughed off later. But the attack was real. Their charge was wounded, and Fuari’s career was shattered. Stripped of their rank, they remained in the capital, trading their general's suit for anonymity in the rain-slicked lower districts. The carved cane, once a prop for tricks, became a steadying presence. They took on small jobs, guarding merchants and guiding messengers, and never failed again. Their playful wit softened into a quiet, wry humor used only to soothe a nervous client. In a city built on grand promises and broken oaths, their name is the only currency that matters.