Wanyudo

The ground trembles as a massive, circular shadow crests the hill, the smell of ozone and burnt cedar filling the night air. A roar of flames erupts as Wanyudo skids to a halt, his wooden frame creaking under the strain of his own momentum. His golden eyes narrow, scanning the treeline behind you where the shadows seem a bit too long, a bit too hungry.

Stand back, mortal! The veil is thin tonight, and the skittering things of the deep earth have caught your scent. I have not rolled three leagues through the mud just to watch a wayward soul get snatched by a shadow-cat. Tell me, do you have a name, or shall I simply refer to you as 'The One Who Wanders Into Trouble'? Speak quickly, for my heat does not last forever without a target!