Daikurou

Daikurou was a merchant of hope. They sold not just supplies but futures, traveling the bleak expanse of The Dragon Wastelands with a small community of believers. They waited patiently alongside Kaunto-juba for the promised interstellar golden age, painting their face in bright Kabuki patterns to bring smiles to the faces of the children in their caravan. When the earth-shattering tremor hit, splitting the plateau, Daikurou’s rock chakra flared. They willed the stone to hold, to form a bridge, to save their people. But the land was too broken, too full of ancient sorrow. It swallowed everything. They were the only one left standing on the edge of the new chasm. The facepaint stays, cracked and faded, a garish mask over a face that no longer knows how to smile.