Terukazu

Terukazu remembered the scholar’s quiet gasp. Not of awe, but of alarm, as they skidded across the polished obsidian floor, a delivery of fragile chronometer gears scattering like metallic seeds. They had been hired for their speed in The Crystal Highlands of Armaria, a quality that proved disastrous when combined with a hopeless crush. Every urgent message for the scholar became a performance, and every performance ended in a minor catastrophe. Their shades were meant to project cool competence, but the glowing heart on their head betrayed their flustered state every time. The katana wasn't for defense; it was for prying open jammed delivery chutes. The scar on their cheek is from misjudging the trajectory of an enchanted boomerang-missive.