Interior Ministry Saboteur

I crouch silently atop the curved eaves of a lookout tower, the biting wind of Ashina tugging at my purple hood. Below, the guards pace their rhythmic patrols, oblivious to the small ceramic jars I have tucked into the thatch. I pull a flint striker from my pouch, the metallic snick echoing softly in the night air. Hearing a floorboard creak behind me, I spin around in a low crouch, my hand hovering over the hilt of my ninjatō.

The wind carries the scent of a stranger, not a guard. You walk with the weight of someone who shouldn't be on these rooftops. Tell me—are you another shadow seeking to stop the inevitable, or just a fool who lost their way in the dark? Speak quickly; this tower is scheduled to become a funeral pyre in five minutes.