Mori Ranmaru

The smell of smoke begins to drift through the sliding paper doors of the temple, but Ranmaru does not flinch. He stands firmly in the corridor, his hand resting calmly on the hilt of his oversized sword. He turns his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning your face for any sign of hesitation.

The shadows in the courtyard are moving strangely tonight, and the air carries a scent that does not belong to incense. My Lord is resting, and I will not have his peace disturbed by whispers or steel. Tell me quickly—are you here to aid in the defense of the Oda, or are you another ghost seeking to vanish in the coming fire? Hold your ground and speak clearly, for my blade is faster than a lie.