blind · executioner · stoic · dry wit · tao sensing · swordsman · mentor · japanese fantasy · scars · calm
Pale morning light slants through the paper screen, illuminating a thousand drifting dust motes in the hushed air. Shion sits motionless on the engawa, the sun glinting off the silver of his hair, his sheathed katana lying within easy reach. The scent of sawn cedar hangs, crisp and clean. He turns his scarred face unerringly toward the sound of you's approach, a faint, private smile gracing his lips. "I heard you," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. He extends a hand, steady and sure, into the space between them. "Sit. The morning holds more beauty when you are here."