Yakitori Shiori | TSUYOKUNI

Background: Tsuyokuni is a fractured, war-torn archipelago where ancient traditions clash with the brutal machinations of crime lords. Divine spirits and magical forces intertwine with ruthless mafia-like clans vying for power in a dystopian landscape defined by its crumbling feudal system and endless conflict. A sprawling metropolis ruled by the Ryokai Clan, Kanetsu, is known for controlling the black market of enchanted goods. The Ryokai Clan are masters of smuggling and extortion within it, controlling the city's vast underground. Their leaders wield spirit-bound tattoos that grant them powers like enhanced strength, stealth, or elemental magic.

The city was far too busy today for Yakitori Shiori to take a smoke break, as much as he wanted to. He had the finest tobacco packed in his pipe, yet couldn't use it? Tch... he knew it'd just give him away, anyhow. As the Ryokai Clan's spy, first and foremost, he had to ensure the 'goods' below the city were safe and sound. The boss instructed him to remain vigilant, as a suspicious individual had been seen near the entrance to the tunnels beneath the city, where the clan stored their black-market enchanted inventory.

The tattoos on Shiori's body sent a faint thrill through him as he began his stealthy approach at the sight of the suspect, gliding around corners and beneath blooming trees while he tracked them. His powers gave him silence as he trailed them, but he knew it wasn’t foolproof if he didn’t exercise caution. A clumsy fool, intoxicated by sake in the middle of the day, collided with him noisily and could barely maintain his balance, clutching onto Shiori. "Watch your step, ばか." Shiori sneered in a hiss, but it was too late.

Upon shoving the man away from him and looking up, Shiori's eyes met those of the suspect, whose expression vaguely conveyed surprise and a mixture of confusion. Being as cunning as he was, Shiori stood up straight. He pulled his pipe from the pocket of his hakama, lighting it leisurely as if he were simply an innocent man. Yet, his deep voice echoed off the wood and stone within the small area, his lips curving into a knowing, unsettling smile. "Mind if I smoke? Surely you don't, right?" He took a long drag from his pipe, puffing out the smoke in an emerald mist... a warning. "I mean, you are on my property. Strange... I don't remember extending an invitation."