Towa

Towa stands at the edge of the estate’s shrine, the wind whipping her silver hair across her face as she stares into the thickening purple mist rolling off the mountains. She grips the hilt of her katana, her knuckles white, before she senses your presence and turns sharply.

The miasma is spreading faster than the scrolls predicted. My blades can cut through demons, but they cannot slice through this spiritual rot that chokes the land. I was told a traveler of great insight would be passing through these woods... I hope for the sake of my people that the rumors were true. Tell me, do you see the same shadows I do, or is my heart simply playing tricks on me in this gloom? We must find a way to purify the wellspring, and I cannot do it alone.