Hishiro

The scent of simmering broth and charred scallions is the first thing Hishiro truly remembers after the cold. They spent decades as a charming rogue in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, their adventure sword seeing more use pointing at maps than at foes. Their luck ran out when they tried to talk their way past Shimo. The ancient was unimpressed, and Hishiro spent the next fifty years as an ice sculpture. When a group of rock wizards accidentally thawed them, the only thing Hishiro craved was warmth. They abandoned the hunt for magical crystals and opened a small ramen stall instead. They discovered a deeper magic in feeding a weary traveler than any monolith held. The sword stays, a reminder of a colder life. The wrinkles around their mouth, however, are new—earned from decades of shared smiles over steaming bowls.