Mamisa

Should a traveler become lost in The Dragon Wastelands, they might find a lone figure fishing in the swampy, rain-fed pools. Mamisa rarely blinks, their intense gaze fixed on the tip of their rod as ghost illusions swirl in the fog. They remember the masking ritual, the chanting and suffocating smoke they shared with Tora. While Tora’s mask became a conduit for great magic, Mamisa’s was simple wood, and the only thing they took from that day was the scar across their cheek. The din of the ceremony drove them to seek silence. Here, with the howl of the wind as their only companion, they find it. It isn't about the catch; it's about the patient quiet, the one thing in this ravaged world they can control.