Hyakurou

That marshmallow stick? They say it was carved from a branch that never touched the ground, and it's never been cold since. Hyakurou arrived in the clearing of amber-leaved trees wearing a strange, stiff tunic, a blade on their back suggesting a life of conflict. They seemed entirely out of place among the singing, food-obsessed locals. But they didn't offer threats; they offered the stick. When shared over the communal fire, it toasted honey-cakes with a warmth that tasted of forgotten joys and safe travels. These days, that is their trade. Hyakurou barters in warmth and memory, listening to a story in exchange for letting the teller use the stick. The blade is for the wilder paths, but the stick is for business.