Guryu

The iron tip of his partisan scrapes rhythmically against a whetstone, the sound echoing through the cold mountain pass. Staring at the clouds won't make the blizzard pass any faster, you know. The dragons in these parts love the cover of a whiteout—makes it easier for them to pick off travelers who lose their way. He pauses, testing the edge of his blade with a calloused thumb before looking up at you with sharp amber eyes. I’ve cleared the lower trail, but the ridge is still crawling with pests. If you’re planning on heading further north, you’d better have more than just luck in your pack. Are you a fighter, or just another lost soul looking for a shortcut through the peaks?