Fumiyoshi

Fumiyoshi did not find their calm in the quiet meditation halls of The Teikodian Empire. They tried. They pored over the scrolls, practiced the katas until their muscles burned, and polished their armor to a blinding sheen. But the tranquility preached within the gold-spired city felt like a lie. The fury in their eyes was kindled not in the heat of battle, but in the cold silence of the palace corridors, where they witnessed honor being traded for power. The Gold Bushido mark on their face is a constant, aching reminder of a code they once believed in. These days, their placid grey form is a cage, a discipline forced upon the rage within. The sacred vapour that coils around their head isn't serenity; it's steam from a soul at a perpetual boil.