"At the Palace of Reisen Raim" – unknown artist, 762 G.S. (depicted image may differ from the character's actual appearance)Yamagami AyanoA figure in a robe leisurely strode through the ruins of a village. The charred skeletons of houses had collapsed in some places and crumbled into dust in others. Shards of broken glass and household utensils were scattered everywhere, but no traces of bodies were visible—as if no one had ever lived here. However, a trained eye could spot shapeless heaps of rags littering the village streets. An experienced person would identify them as the remains of former residents, assuming that the flesh and bones had been devoured and dragged away by crows, dogs, and other scavengers—and would be wrong.
Stopping, the figure recited a brief prayer, then, tilting its head to the side, assumed a waiting pose. Mere moments passed, and the surrounding air grew noticeably colder. A thick fog began to condense around, appearing, contrary to usual, as if rising directly from the ground. In the mixture of ash and sand, unrest began to take shape; the earth started to tremble. Gradually, a funnel formed in the soil, as if an especially large antlion had taken up residence there. Finally, a giant fountain of rubble and sand shot out of the funnel, drenching the uninvited guest from head to toe, and something long, grimy-gray, exuding a foul stench, burst into the air.
It instantly encircled the space around the traveler with dozens of rings, cutting off all escape routes, twitching most repulsively. Without budging, the figure in the robe waited several seconds for the sand to settle, in order to identify the monstrous creature as a nightmarish centipede whose segments were made of grotesquely twisted dead hands. With an unpleasant sound of trembling and crunching half-rotten bones, hundreds of fingers scraped the ground with broken nails, gradually narrowing the remaining open space around the person who had unwarily stumbled into their trap. At the same time, from the sandy funnel, something indescribable began to rise—a vague resemblance to a deformed human face in the final stages of decay, with a broken jaw opening in all four directions, studded with slimy, gnarled fangs. Everything was accompanied by sepulchral wailing and laughter, completely distorted, somewhere on an incomprehensible level of perception, bypassing the organs of hearing and striking directly into the mind.
The "prey" did not move, waiting for the centipede's move. As if mistaking calmness for paralysis in the face of mortal danger, the centipede's body coiled around, completely wrapping the victim like a cocoon. But as soon as one of its fingers touched the edge of the prey's garment, a grimace of unbearable pain convulsed the entire dead body. The face in the funnel let out a screech full of agony, and the palm-segments twitched with incredible force, breaking their brittle bones, trying at any cost to pull away—but to no avail. Finally, gaps appeared on the outer side of the "cocoon"—the centipede's body slowly burned from the inside, until it finally turned to ash. Shaking itself off, the unharmed figure in the robe extracted a rectangular piece of paper inscribed with strange symbols from its sleeve and hurled it into the maw of the whimpering, howling monster.
"Uruse," an irritated female voice snapped from under the hood.
Turning around, the "prey" slowly walked away, leaving the dead thing to smolder alone.
Every low-level ghost or demon considered itself a master tactician and always tried to surround its victim—and each one invariably got burned.
Nevertheless, after this incident, the heavy, grave-like atmosphere over the village did not dissipate—the purified ghost was merely small fry; the true source of trouble still lurked somewhere in the vicinity.
Its search did not take long—even a completely dull and crude person could not fail to sense the smell of death and decay emanating from the well at the end of the street. Already approaching it, one could feel the standard signs: distorted sounds, visual hallucinations, heavy emotions, and indistinct whispers hammering at the heart.
Extracting a strange-looking rod from her other sleeve, the woman resolutely approached the well and peered down. Recoiling from the foul stench, she gave herself a few seconds to calm her sense of smell. Half a minute later, it became clear that the well's inhabitant would not come out of its own free will. Taking another ofuda from her seemingly bottomless sleeve, the miko thought for a few seconds, then folded it into a small paper crane and released it into the well, stepping back several paces.
Over the next few minutes, nothing unusual happened, and the priestess had begun to consider another plan, when finally a splash came from the well—the crane had at last glided down to the water's surface. Perhaps this well was much deeper than it seemed, or maybe paranormal effects played a role—it no longer mattered.
A rumble issued from the shaft, and a fountain of stagnant water shot into the sky, drenching the entire surrounding area, including the girl from head to toe. Shaking off her robe once more—which she wore precisely for such occasions, knowing how many demons love to dirty everything around—she tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for her new patient to emerge.
At last, a thin hand covered in slime, with extremely long nails, appeared from the well and gripped the timber. Then another, followed by a head overgrown with long, tangled black hair. With a heavy groan, pulling herself up with her arms, the body of a young girl—more like a teenager—tumbled out of the well onto the ground. Slowly rising, she fixed the miko with the black voids of her eye sockets and tried to say something with a gurgle. Failing, she coughed several times until she convulsed in a retching fit, spewing forth a stream of black water.
"Ba...bastards... You... You'll be... C...cursed..." the ghost uttered indistinct curses aimed at no one in particular.
The target didn't matter: most ruined, restless souls harbor grievances for one reason or another—naturally, first against those they lived among, and against the world of the living in general. Some retain the ability to speak coherently, and sometimes communication with them can bear fruit—if you can appease the offended ghost, there is a chance to purify its soul and help it pass on to the afterlife. But miracles don't happen—such cases are extremely rare, and this miko was not one to listen to the life story of every dead person she met.
Closing her eyes, the priestess began a purification ritual. The prayer flowed from her lips like a song, and with each sweep of the gohei came a pained cry from the drowned girl.
"Freaks!.. Pigs!.. Your descendants will be cursed!.. Worms will devour your guts!.. Crows will peck out your eyes!.. Dogs will tear apart your children!.. Why did you... Why..." The ghost proved stubborn and refused to leave; her resentment seemed very strong.
Gradually, the curses turned into pitiful laments, and the screams of pain into weak sobs. Partially opening her eyes, the miko saw black-green tears flowing from the girl's empty eye sockets. The ghost lay in the mud by the well, clawing at it with her nails, gazing at the priestess with an expression full of sorrow.
"Why did you do that?.." the drowned girl whispered plaintively. "She wasn't... guilty of anything..."
Steeling her heart, the miko recited the final passage of the prayer and, with a last sweep of the gohei, dispersed the ghost into the wind.
Catching her breath and coming to her senses, she saw that the clouds over the village had thinned slightly, and sunlight began to break through. Looking around and stowing her tools back in her robes, she strode toward the village exit. Earthly life can be unjust, and negative emotions can drive human souls to eternal suffering. The only thing one can do—both for them and for the living—is to put an end to it. Exorcise, help them pass on, return them to the cycle—any preferred term that lets you sleep at night.
These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a child crying, coming from one of the ruined huts. After a moment's hesitation, the miko carefully entered the destroyed house, trying not to damage its fragile structure or trigger a final collapse. In the far corner of the room, facing the wall, sat a boy of about six, hugging his knees and sobbing bitterly. Hearing the priestess's footsteps, he turned around with a look full of hope:
"S-sis?.." he sniffled, then recoiled in fear a moment later. "Uh, d-don't eat me!!!"
The miko removed her hood and hannya mask—revealing an ordinary human face beneath:
"I won't eat you. It's just a mask. To ward off evil spirits."
The boy calmed down.
"Oh... It's scary, so I thought... Ma'am, have you seen my sister? I lost her."
The girl said nothing.
"I don't know where she is," he whimpered. "Can you help me? Ever since Mom left, she's all I have. I heard screams outside, then she told me to hide... And then... Then..." The boy furrowed his brow, trying to understand what had happened. "I don't remember. There was a fire, I don't know where my sister is... I'm so scared for her, have you seen her?"
The miko nodded:
"I have. I can't bring her to you, but she's fine. If you want, I can take you to her," an ofuda slid from her sleeve into her hand as usual.
"R-really?.." The child's face lit up, a hesitant smile slowly spreading across it. "Really-really, you're not lying?"
The miko didn't answer. They were both silent for a moment.
"Don't bother," the boy shook his head and wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I believe you, she's okay. I'll find her myself then. Thanks, ma'am!"
Getting to his feet, he took a few steps toward the exit and dissolved into the brightening air. The miko shrugged and barely smiled at the corner of her mouth—sometimes miracles do happen, where you least expect them.
***
Opening her eyes, Ayano saw above her the dusty ceiling beams, studded with rusty rivets. Her smile vanished instantly.
This dream was her last fond memory of the old world left behind. Rising from her bed, she looked at herself in the mirror—a tired and disappointed face stared back, like someone dragged into work on their legal day off. Although dawn was barely breaking, the sounds of construction were already coming from outside the window—sawing and hammering.
Making her bed and combing her hair, she began putting on her kimono, "eagerly" awaiting whatever interesting discoveries this wonderful new day would bring her in this moldy backwater.
___________
Strength: 10
Endurance: 10
Perception: 15
Agility: 10
Luck: 10
Spirit: 15
Intelligence: 20
Speed: 10
Faith: 0
Beauty: 11
Charisma: 10
Origin: Nihon - +5 Perception +5 Spirit +1 Beauty
Alignment: Miss Cosmos
Profession: Miko - character can see supernatural entities and spread their culture to others.
Skill: Archery
Equipment:
Weapon: Yumi
Head: Hannya (red)
Body: Kimono (kosode + hakama)
Shoulders: Hooded robe
Hands: Archery gloves
Footwear: Geta with insulated tabi
Accessory 1: Heart of Artery
Accessory 2: Yakuyoke Omamori
Other 1: Stack of Ofuda
Other 2: Kagura Suzu
Other 3: Quiver of arrows
Bag: gohei, tanto, white and black hannya, Kalvad platinum card.
Not spending experience yet.
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