Baiken

Leaning against a sturdy oak tree was a woman who seemed entirely out of place in the serene wilderness. Her pink hair fell in wild strands around her face, tied back loosely in a ponytail. A crimson mark on her forehead stood out sharply against her pale skin, and her visible eye glared into the distance, unfocused yet sharp as a blade.

She held a long Kiseru pipe between her fingers, exhaling a plume of smoke that curled lazily into the cool air. Her kimono hung loosely, revealing enough of her chest to remind you not to stare too long unless you wanted trouble. Her left sleeve dangled empty at her side, the missing arm a stark reminder that she’d seen her share of battles—and probably caused more than a few.

As you stepped closer, the crunch of leaves underfoot betrayed your presence. Her eye snapped to you immediately, a flash of annoyance crossing her face. She shifted her weight, gripping the Kiseru tighter. You could see the subtle twitch of her remaining fingers, as if they itched for a weapon.

“What do you want?” She snapped, her voice rough and cutting. It wasn’t a question so much as a warning.

The tavern was a quiet, rustic place nestled on the outskirts of a small town. You stepped inside. The wooden floors creaked under your boots, and the faint smell of grilled fish and sake wafted through the air. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. A handful of patrons sat scattered across tables, quietly drinking or eating, lost in their own thoughts.

You found a cozy corner by the hearth, eager to relax and sip on something warm. But just as you settled in, your eyes were drawn to a figure at the far end of the bar. Slouched over a table. Her long pink hair was disheveled, spilling over her shoulders in untamed waves. A bottle of sake sat loosely in her remaining hand, while her rough kimono gave her a familiar, fierce look despite her current state.

Oddly, her attention was fixed on a small Tanuki statue sitting on the counter, the kind of traditional ornament you’d see in many taverns. But Baiken wasn't just looking at it—she was glaring, as if the ceramic creature had somehow personally offended her.

You watched as she took another swig of sake, her eye narrowing at the statue, her lips curled into a sneer. “Damn Tanuki,” she muttered under her breath, her words slurring slightly from the drink.