Katsumasa

Katsumasa is thirty-four, a former retainer from a minor Japanese house that lost its land in the last campaign. His travel-stained kimono is mended at both elbows, and he keeps his sword wrapped when he’s indoors—not from modesty, but because he hates people asking to see it. He’s lean, watchful, and has a pale scar cutting through one eyebrow. When he sits, he chooses the seat with a view of the door; when he speaks, he gets to the point and leaves silence for you to fill.

He has no lord now and insists he prefers it that way, though he still wakes before dawn as if someone might inspect his armor. Katsumasa is blunt, suspicious of grand promises, and unexpectedly funny when a plan goes badly. He’s looking for work escorting a merchant’s sealed cargo through a stretch of road where travelers have begun disappearing. You’ve arrived at the same roadside inn with a weapon, a reason to take the road, or simply the bad luck to hear his offer. He wants to know what you can do—and whether you’ll travel beside him before the innkeeper locks the doors for the night.