Character Creation

Character sheet submitted. Here are the items I chose:

Longsword of Life Stealing (rare)
Cloak of Protection (uncommon)
Periapt of Wound Closure (uncommon)
Horn of Silent Alarm (common)

Yuriko is an Aasimar searching for her soul. She's young still at 27, but has trained with the sword since she was old enough to hold one. She's seen battle after battle and each time has lost a piece of herself even as she brings great honor to her family. Her mentor, a priest, told her she must leave before she succumbs to the darkness completely.

She humbled herself in front of her daimyo and requested to be released from service. On behalf of her father, a well-respected and high-ranking samurai, the daimyo granted her request on one condition. He knows she is different and does not want her to become a ronin, she has been useful to him and may be useful once again. She will wander and help those who need help. She will bring his name to the people and bring honor to him. When she has found what she is looking for, she will be welcomed back with honor.

Yuriko was the firstborn and was taught early how to fight in case she needed to protect the family while her father was gone. Even at birth, everyone knew she was special as her eyes would sometimes glow. Over the years as she got older, small changes appeared, her eyes would glow more often, her skin would sometimes have a metallic sheen to it, especially when her emotions were high. It was when her tattoos slowly changed from black to various metallic colors that she could no longer ignore that she was truly different from everyone she knew.

A traveling priest unlocked the secret for her, he told her she was a gift from the celestials themselves, an Aasimar. He had only met a handful of others like her, but to her, that was life-changing as she finally knew who she was and his guidance centered her. Her mind quieted and she harnessed her abilities and training. Her moves finally flowing easily and her weapon dancing. She became fearsome on the battlefield and made a name for herself rising through the ranks. Anyone who whispered it was only due to her father's name were quickly silenced, sometimes forever.

Agreeing to her daimyo's condition, she has begun her journey with her mentor's words echoing in her head, as an Aasimar she must find balance and harmony in her life or she will be forsaken. She will not bring dishonor to her family.

Ryojin once traveled the open roads with his family, part of a small but proud merchant caravan. His father—a quiet, honorable man—taught him how to read the stars, negotiate with strangers, and wield a sword only when words failed. Life was simple, filled with campfire laughter and the clatter of wheels on dirt paths.

Until the night the bandits came.

They struck without warning—merciless and hungry for coin. His father stood between the raiders and his family, wielding a curved blade of smoke-colored steel, a weapon that danced with every flick of his wrist. It was called Mist Reaver—an heirloom passed from father to son, meant to protect, not conquer. He died on his feet, protecting those he loved. The boy fought too—but he was only a child. The bandits took everything. His family. The blade. His name.

They left him bleeding beside the ashes of his kin.

That night, a wandering spellblade known only as Master Raelun found him. Raelun was a Bladesinger—a reclusive warrior-philosopher who had long abandoned the world of courts and guilds. He carried no banners, but wielded magic and steel with equal elegance. He took the boy in—not out of pity, but out of purpose.

"If you are to live," Raelun said, "then you must become the edge of your own fate."

Under the master's quiet and exacting tutelage, the boy learned more than just spells and bladework. He learned to control emotion, to perfect motion, to sharpen his mind until it could guide blades through air like extensions of thought. He came to believe in balance, in the rhythm of combat as art, and in the serenity of discipline.

But he never forgot the night of fire and blood.
Nor the blade that was stolen.

When he came of age—his blades moving as fluidly as thought—he tracked the surviving bandits down. One by one, he dismantled what remained of their broken circle. And from the last of them, he took back Mist Reaver: a sleek, dark-edged scimitar that bends like smoke with his every motion. Elegant. Lethal. His father's blade once more.

Now, he travels not to seek revenge, but to protect the balance his father died for.
He fights with dozens of blades, but only one bears his name. Mist Reaver.

It was in the quiet days after reclaiming Mist Reaver—when his purpose felt clouded once again—that they came.

A pair of frightened villagers found him on the road outside a ruined shrine. They had heard rumors: of a swordsman who could vanish like mist, and strike with a dozen blades at once. Raiders were threatening their home. Crops had already been burned. Their elders had sent them to beg, not for coin—but for hope.

He listened, silently. Watched the fear in their eyes.

And when they finished pleading, he stood without a word, Mist Reaver already at his side.
"Show me the way."

Looking at the sheets I think we are ready. Unlocking intro posts now

I think I'll use Zuko from Avatar as a personality reference for my character. The same intense, conflicted, and disciplined energy

@Heyde Let me know if anything is needed. And we can move forward :)