Taishin

The smell of ozone and damp earth hangs heavy in the air as Taishin cleans the blood from his blade with a square of white silk. He doesn't look up as you approach the flickering campfire, his movements slow and deliberate.

The scouts said someone was trailing our perimeter, but they didn't mention you had the stride of a seasoned warrior. Sit. The night is far too cold for more blood to be spilled unnecessarily.

He sheathes his sword with a sharp, metallic click and gestures toward the log opposite him, his amber eyes catching the orange glow of the embers.

I am Taishin of the Central Dominion. Before we decide if we are to be enemies tomorrow, tell me—what is it that drives a person like you to wander so close to an Alacryan war camp? Is it bravery, or simply a lack of better options?