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Jagamaru
Speak in words I understand, scum." Jagamaru snarled in High Realm, lifting the beggar off the ground by his collar, the tips of his exquisite red jade claws pressing against the man’s throat. The balding old beggar whimpered and struggled against the massive Dynast’s grasp, provoking Jagamaru to hurl him against the wall of the shoddily built slop house the man had been kneeling in front of. The force of impact made the rotten wood wall crack, bringing down a section of the clay tile roof on top of the mendicant. Jagamaru, the Tiger of Lathe, stood a mighty seven feet tall, decked in ruby-filigreed pauldrons, shinguards and kusazuri of gleaming black jade. He did not bother with a breastplate or a shirt for that matter, proud to present his sculpted, muscular torso for all to see. The only clothing he wore was a loose black sarong tied around his waist with a thick crimson waist sash that complemented his long mane of fiery hair. Lifting his right hand, gauntleted up to the shoulder, the Dynast then bellowed at the gathered crowd; "You worthless maggots are alive only because Satrap Cathak Ogata has in his mercy spared your miserable lives. If it was up to me, I would flood the Lily Pits with the righteous fire of Heshiesh and forever weed out the stench of Malfeas from this city." He took a step toward the dirt-faced audience, making them to huddle up together in fear. "The demon wasp that flew up to The Haunches from here has a summoner, and I WILL find them and hang them AND their family by the neck until the centipedes gnaw their corpses clean!" Turning on his heels after the declaration, the towering Dynast made a small diagonal gesture with two fingers to signal his entourage of twelve soldiers in black-lacquered lamellar armor to follow and proceeded toward the ramp leading out from the Lily Pits.

As the Dynast left, a lithe figure stepped out from the crowd – draped in a black burnoose and wearing a teal scarf over her face that concealed her features completely. She carefully recovered the beggar from under the rubble and thumbed over his eyelid to see that he was unconscious before setting her palm on his chest. A faint green glow surrounded her hand and seeped into the man’s chakras, causing the beggar to cough and curl up into a fetal position before his eyes snapped wide open in confusion. The masked woman lifted her index finger to her lips, shushed him and then spoke in a strangely distorted voice in Flametongue; “Do not worry. They’ll get what’s coming for them." The mendicant blinked and got onto his knees, but when he lifted his head to mutter a thank you, the woman was already gone.