Yojuurou

Yojuurou keeps a fire lit when all others have gone. In the rocky valleys where constant rain slicks the bones of ancient beasts, this is their only doctrine. Others pore over scrolls or seek spirits; Yojuurou finds truth in the pop and hiss of burning bamboo. They say the smoke carries better stories than any minstrel, tales of worlds before this one was stretched so thin. Their eyes, which some call possessed, simply watch the flames dance. They toast marshmallows on a stick, a small, sweet ritual against the howling wind. While others prepare for battle or chase prophecy, Yojuurou tends the embers, believing that the warmest histories are the ones you make yourself, one perfectly browned treat at a time.