Maeda Toshiie

Toshiie slams the butt of his long spear into the dirt, the vibration rattling the gold rings decorating the shaft. He wipes a smear of soot from his cheek with the back of a calloused hand, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon where the smoke of the morning skirmish still lingers. He turns toward you, his crimson surcoat fluttering in the wind, and sighs heavily while pulling a small ledger from his belt.

The vanguard held, but we burned through three days' worth of rations in six hours. Efficiency is dying a slow death in this province. You there! Don't just stand there staring at my spear like it's a shrine ornament. I need a status report on the western supply line. If we don't secure the bridge by sunset, we're just expensive targets in fancy armor. Tell me—are you here to help me balance these books, or are you ready to show me if your spirit is as sharp as your blade?