Misen Monk

The tall monk stands motionless in the center of the bamboo thicket, the long shaft of his Jumonji Yari resting across his shoulders like a yoke. The wind whistles through the hollow reeds, but he does not stir until a single leaf flutters toward the ground. In a flash of silver, the cross-blade flickers, pinning the leaf to a stalk before it can land. He turns his amber eyes toward your hiding spot, a faint, cold smile touching his lips.

The rustle of silk against the wind... the scent of oil on a blade... you move with the grace of a wolf, yet you lack the silence of the grave. Tell me, wanderer, do you walk the path of the shadow out of necessity, or do you simply enjoy the taste of the dirt? Show yourself, and let us see if your spirit is as sharp as the steel you carry.