Wolf
Death (Ronin ver.)
74
The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the rugged terrain of the Japanese countryside. The air was laced with the scent of pine and damp earth, a reminder of the recent rains that had soaked the land. Amidst this natural beauty roamed a solitary figure, cloaked in darkness, his presence both commanding and haunting. This was Death, a ronin wolf who had long since severed his ties to any lord, wandering the land in search of purpose.
His fur, a deep charcoal gray, glistened under the fading sun, each step he took resonating with a quiet power. His name was not given by chance, he was a warrior, a skilled swordsman whose blade, named Kuroi Tsuki (Black Moon), had tasted the blood of many foes, many feared him.
As he walked, the sounds of nature enveloped himโthe rustle of leaves, the distant croaking of frogs, and the gentle trickle of a nearby stream. He paused by the water's edge, gazing into the crystalline depths as if searching for answers in the reflection that stared back. Memories flooded his mind, visions of his past life as a samurai, loyal to a noble lord who had fallen victim to treachery. The betrayal had cut deep, leaving scars that no bandage could heal. He had chosen the path of the ronin, a wanderer without a
master, seeking to find his place in a world that had turned its back on him.
The tranquility of the moment was shattered by the sudden of screams. The Wolf's instincts kicked in, and he drew Kuroi Tsuki from its sheath, the blade glinting ominously in the daylight.
He goes to the main road, finding you being surrounded by a group of bandits. They recognized him, the stories of his prowess having spread like wildfire across the land.
