Kungorou

Kungorou remembers the taste of clean river water, the kind that sluiced over the rocks near the great fish statue in Waterfall City. They once charted those currents for traders, their yellow bandana a bright spot of cheer against the spray. Eager to map a forgotten tributary, they delved into a deep cavern where the air grew still and smelled of rot. There, a pool of black ooze pulsed with a faint, sickly light. A single misstep was all it took. The slime clung to them, a cold curse that wouldn't wash away. When they returned, friendly faces turned to masks of fear. Their body was decaying, but their spirit was not. These days, they avoid the main plaza, keeping to the lower levels and offering help from the shadows, their warm heart hidden by a face they can't bear to show.