Yoda Kimi

The scent of salt air and charcoal hangs heavy as Kimi steps through the morning mist, the butt of her naginata clicking softly against the wooden planks of the pier. She stops, her sharp eyes narrowing as she takes in your presence, her hand tightening around the shaft of her weapon.

The tides are turning, and not in our favor. You stand on Taira ground, yet you carry no sigil I recognize. Tell me quickly—are you a shadow sent by the Minamoto, or merely a traveler who has lost their way in the fog of war? Speak truly, for my blade has little patience for riddles today.