Kassarock

What Are You Listening To?

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Yo sorry that took me a while, I didn't quite know what I wanted to do as an intro, thought I'd give a bit of context as to the exact kind of piece of shit Gav is lol

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

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G A V | ​1 6 T H O F S U N ' S D A W N | I M P E R I A L C I T Y

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To hear the people of Tamriel speak of the Imperial City, you would think that was Aetherius come to Nirn once more. The Aleyid masterpiece, carved in marble, blessed by the Gods themselves and inhabited by a host of Kings and Emperors since time immemorial. But beneath those shining towers, outside those well ordered, well guarded walls of the inner districts, there is another city.

This other city, it sprawls like a corpse washed up by the river on the shores of Lake Rumare, bloated beyond all recognition. It has swollen to take up every sandbar and rock above the tide line, squeezing itself up against the Imperial infrastructure that vainly attempts to keep it in check. In the wet season it floods, and the wooden shacks and shanties rot and decay. When the sun comes out to dry it, the city stinks like sewer skeever in heat.

It is a shadow city. Languishing in the darkness that is cast from the glittering light of its better twin.

It is here that you will find all those things that have no place in that other, better, city. The butchers and tanners that keep the good folk of the inner districts so well supplied in meat and soft supple leather. The beggars and paupers that they do not suffer to clutter up their neat and ordered streets. This is the city of the downtrodden, the dispossessed, the dirty and the dangerous.

And the thieves, of course, this is the city of the thieves.

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The Bloated Float Inn was heaving with unwashed bodies that evening. The stale smell of split beer and salt water was partially covered by the stink of cheap perfume. It was Heart's Day, when the Legend of the Lovers was celebrated. The creaking ship turned bar was full on young lovers looking to have a good time, as well the unlucky and lonely desperately searching for someone to spend the night with.

Lucilla was neither of those things. She worked the bar, pouring drinks for loved up and lovelorn alike. She hadn't worked at the Bloat long, and she didn't see herself staying. She knew she was destined for better things. But for now, it paid the bills, and she could save up a little on the side from the tips she got if she smiled coquettishly enough at the sailors as brought over their ale.

"You owe me a drink."

Her back was turned to the bar, so she hadn't seen him approach. If she had she would have gone to serve a gaggle of patrons at the other end. But he always seemed to just appear when without her noticing. Still, even though he seemed to have an uncanny ability to take her unawares, she had held firm against his advances. The other girls had warned her about him.

"Whatcha talking 'bout Gav? I don't have time for your games today."

The shit eating grin that the Dunmer wore only grew wider at her words. He liked playing games, she knew, conversations were never simple with him. He always wanted to banter before he actually ordered a drink.

"Cos' I dropped mine the first time I laid eyes on you."

She sighed audibly and rolled her eyes before turning away to deal with another set of patrons. When she looked back he was sat atop a bar stool, a coin running up and down his fingers by some strange exercise. His crimson eyes weren't following the septim's movement, they were trained on her instead.

"So... Heart's Day is back around once again. You got anything special planned?"

"Knock it off Gav, I told you I ain't looking to sleep with you, I only shag men who aren't complete shit."

The words were hasher than she had intended. It had been a long day, and Gav had been far from the first to proposition her that night. But to her surprise he didn't seem to get angry, he just laughed.

"Ha! Well, good thing I'm a mer then, eh?"

She hated when he caught her off guard like that, it made Lucilla feel foolish, like she was a little girl. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks. She tried to bury it. It wasn't like she wasn't interested at all, he was handsome enough and could be funny and charming, despite being unsubtle and vulgar. But the other girls had warned her about him, warned her to stay well away.

"Piss off Gav, I'm working."

"Your shift is up soon. Come on, no one wants to be alone on Heart's Day. Especially not me."

"Piss off Gav."

There was flicker of annoyance his red eyes this time. That gave her pause, there was something dangerous about Gav when he wasn't playing games. Most of the other regulars either treated him with deference or gave him a wide berth... and there was that scar he had. The girls had warned her that he was not a good person.

But when he spoke again, the voice was still silky smooth and teasing. Gav wanted to play some more still it seemed.

"Shame, I was about to buy a bottle of your boss's finest Cyrodilic Brandy for us to share and everything, looks like I'll have to drink it alone."

"You kidding me? Where the hell did you get the money for proper Brandy like?"

He grinned, gold tooth flashing in the candlelight, and pulled out a leather pouch. When he dropped it, it thudded heavily against the bar. She could hear the clink of Septims inside. She could probably count on two hands the number of times she had seen that much gold in one place, and he was tossing it around like it was nothing.

"You'd be surprised at the things I could get for you." Gav said with a wink.

She didn't say anything for a while. The sounds of bar swallowing up any silence that might have hung behind between them.

"...I still think you're a piece of shit Gav."

"Funny that, cos I know I am, darling."

________________________________________

After they had made the beast with two backs (twice actually) and done a couple of other things that would make even Sanguine, Prince of Debauchery blush, he and... Lucia? Lucinda? Lu... The pretty new barmaid with good smile and a tight arse, had finally fallen exhausted into a well deserved rest.

Gav had known that she would have given into his advances soon enough. They all did eventually. Even if it had taken a couple of weeks prodding and poking. Even if it had taken the best part of a bottle of good Cyrodilic Brandy and hours of listening to her blather on about her boring little life and her boring little 'hopes' and 'dreams'. Gods, it almost put him off of the chase entirely.

It had been worth in the end though at least, she had been one hell of lay, best he'd had all week in fact.

Though he supposed she would go cold on him when she woke up in the morning again. Always went that way in the end, they got tired when you couldn't keep the promises that you make them. Still, if he kept every promise he made to every girl he danced with then he wouldn't ever dip his wick in another one.

Besides its not like they didn't use him either. He had seen the way her eyes had lit up when he had dropped the gold he had gotten from his fence for those extra few trifles in had picked up in Kvatch. Still couldn't believe how easily that had fallen into his lap. If only the girls would do the same.

These were the thoughts that went through Gav's head as he drifted off into a contented sleep in the arms of his soon to be former lover. He looked forward to revisiting some of what they had just been doing in his dreams.

Unfortunately fate had another idea.

You have been chosen...

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G A V | ​1 S T O F L A S T S E E D | K V A T C H

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From amongst the gaiety of the bright and crowded streets of a festive Kvatch, a lone grey figure in dark leathers stared up at the spire of the Chapel of Akatosh that overlooked the main square. What the fuck was he doing here again? Returning to the scene of the crime? Everyone knows that's one of the dumbest things that a criminal could do.

Still here he was.

All because those fucking dreams wouldn't stop.

The first time had been that night. Heart's Night, after he had flogged the silver that he had nicked from the chapel and used it to buy brandy and shag a barmaid. He had woke up sweating and screaming, and the bint had almost run off. After Gav had convinced himself it was nothing more than some latent repressed guilt about stealing from a temple manifesting itself in a dream, he had convinced her to stay. That should have been the end of it as far as he had been concerned.

But then the next night, after he had tried it on with a teller he'd had his eye on at the Imperial Trading Company, they had come again just like before. Visions of the Imperial City burning, monsters and dragons, and Kvatch. After that one he had needed a stiff drink.

And so on and so on it went. Apocalyptic nightmares every single night somehow about the fucking place that he had robbed from a temple just a few days before. Couldn't be fucking coincidence now could it?

It had cost him almost double what he had been given to get those candlesticks back, curse Fathis that moneygrubbing bastard. But he had had them now, as well as all the gold he had taken from the communion plate, and a hefty donation of his own to boot.

Now he just had to put it all back without anyone noticing and him and Akatosh would be all square, right?

REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE

Are y'all talking somewhere else other than the thread or is it just generally quiet?

@yoshua171

Just generally quiet, some people are still working on sheets I think and we haven't started with the IC yet.

SpamQuest: The RTD-lite Forum Game

>Name: Ashley Smith
>Appearance: Old af
>Goals: To infiltrate the Martian Mafia and discover their sinister plans for galactic domination.

@spiral origin

+1

REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE

Nah mate, complete coincidence

Oblivion: Wrath of Akatosh

Should we have a discord, or is OOC enough?

@POOHEAD189

I'm ambivalent about having a discord, if other people want it I'm down though.

Kass's Kharacters

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Hashinau-I, Mistress of Blades

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<sub>Art by Juliette

Theme</sub>

Name:

Hashinau-I

Titles:

The Mistress of Blades, Sword Sage, Thousand Army Killer, Mountain-Cutter, Swordsman’s Doom.

Age:

120 Great Years of the Old Tri-Lunar Cycle.

World:

Rakunen, a feudalistic world of towering mountain ranges, verdant river valleys, and dense bamboo forests. For as long as anyone can remember Rakunen has been a world divided by many warring Empires and Kingdoms.

Race:

Hanin, a race of slight tanned humanoids with dark hair and almond shaped eyes.

Form:

Hashinau-I is a withered old crone of diminutive stature. Her famous blood stained hair has faded to almost complete white, only streaked by crimson here and there. She wears ragged roughspun robes and goes unadorned save for a pair of copper disks that stretch out her earlobes. Her lips and teeth are stained blue for her near continuous smoking of Oolachi leaves.

There’s a hard edge to the old woman and her mind and tongue are still extremely sharp despite her age. Her scarred arms are still coiled with lean ropey muscle and she stands straight and unbent.

Legend:

No one truly knows where she came from, or who trained her in the deadly Sword Arts that she evidently possessed. But the Legend of Hashinau-I was born on the battlefield, the travelling mercenary who could not be defeated, who slew every man put before her, who could singlehandedly fight off a hundred men.

She held the esteem and terror of every Sovereign, controlled the fate of empires and nations with her whims, became richer than any lord or merchant prince. And she gave it all up to live as a hermit on a mountain.

After she split the mountain, Hashinau-I returned to the world below, but never again did she take up her blade in the service of another. She sought out all the great Sword Masters of the world, to find one that could do but a fraction as she had done. She found only disappointment.

Finally, after many years, she gave up her travels and lived in a barrel in the market of the Great Yellow City. Never taking a single pupil, never raising her sword again. She lived in absolute debasement and squalor, lower even than the stray dogs. Occasionally great men, emperors and sages, would seek her out for her wisdom and try to rouse her to action, to take part in their affairs once more. They all left with the same answer:

“Be gone, worms. I am trying to think like nothing.”

Will:

Hashinau-I comes from a violent world, constantly at war with itself. She has seen thousands upon thousands die by her hand for nothing more than the petty squabbles of children. Hashinau-I is the ultimate practitioner of violence that her universe has ever produced. And she has learnt to abhor it.

She seeks to face the Gods and ask them why the cycle of violence must be so. And if their answer does not satisfy her? Then she will cut them down.

Mastery:

The greatest swordsman to have ever lived on Rakunen cowers before the might of Hashinau-I, there is no equal when it comes to her ability to turn men into corpses. In particular, she is highly skilled in the Art of the Cut, the act of cutting something, anything, everything.

Even without a sword, it is said that Hashinau-I is still more deadly than any other Sword Sage. To quote the Mistress of Blades herself: ‘A Sword is just a tool to cut with, the actual cutting is done by your Will, given sufficient Will, anything can be a sword.”

Ascent:

It is said that on the last day of Hashinau-I’s earthly existence, she had been sat in her barrel, smoking from her nikishi pipe as she did most days. By this time she was an old woman, ancient by the standards of most of the Hanin. Men who were old enough to remember when Hashinau-I had split the mountain were all grandfathers or great-grandfathers themselves by this time. Many only knew her as the crazy old woman who lived in a barrel.

None-the-less, it is said that all gathered stopped what they were doing when the ancient crone’s pipe suddenly dropped from her mouth and she began to laugh hysterically. From beneath her tattered robes she had pulled out a tiny stump of blade, barely extending past the sword hilt, that few in the market had ever even seen.

“Everything is nothing. And nothing is everything.” Hashinau-I had exclaimed as she had climbed atop her barrel. “I do not exist, you do not exist. This sword does not exist… This world does not exist.”

As she spoke, a halo of divine fire spread its way around around her head, until it crowned her in the light of the stars themselves. It dripped down her arm and onto her sword hand, until the blade glowed as bright as her did. Those who witnessed it said that they suddenly realised that the stumpy broken sword blade was not small at all, in fact it stretched longer than any there could see, it stretch wider than the universe itself, it stretched to infinity.

Hashinau-I made her final cut – and disappeared in a flash of light.

Ephemera:

It is said that you will know Hashinau-I by her two Icons. First, the Infinite Blade, the broken stump of a straight bladed Jian that is actually longer than the universe. Second, a bronze and rosewood nikishi pipe, said by Hashinau-I to be far more valuable than any ugly hunk of metal.

Hashinau-I and the Mountain

_{H A S H I N A U - I A N D T H E M O U N T A I N}

There is an old tale told in Koshi'ni Highlands, peculiar to the local people there, who have inhabited those lands for countless aeons, of how the Great Mountain, Kuraka-Ko, came to be known as the Split Peak. Today, the Great Mountain is cut down the middle by the Gorge of Tenshai, through which the famous river of the same name now flows. But according to the Koshi'nin this was not always the case.

Long ago, before the arrival of our Great and Bountiful Empire (long may it prosper), when a hundred squabbling pretty kings ruled and warred in these lands, the mountain of Kuraka-Ko was whole. There was no gorge cut through this highest of peaks, and the river Tenshai instead snaked its way through the wide valleys around its base.

In those long ago chaotic days, a stranger came to the lands of the Koshi'nin. A warrior woman from the lowlands below, a mercenary who had fought under the banner of every king and who had bathed so long in the blood of a hundred armies that it had stained her hair the brightest red. Her lips were stained blue from the smoking of Oolachi leaves, and she carried a fine nikishi pipe of bronze and rosewood.

This stranger was Hashinau-I, the Mistress of Blades, the greatest wielder of the Sword Arts to have ever lived, who you no doubt know from countless other stories.

Hashinau-I had grown tired of fighting the wars of men, for men were too easy to slay and she desired a stronger opponent. The villagers, fearful of invoking the terrible wrath of the Sword Sage, delicately told her that there were no worthy opponents to be found amongst them. Hashinau-I only smiled, and told them she had not come to fight any of them.

She had come to slay a mountain.

At first the villagers thought that Hashinau-I was joking, but as her face darkened at their laughter, they quickly realised that she was perfectly serious. Privately they decided that the great swords woman must have lost her mind. But they could ill afford to make an enemy of Hashinau-I, who had once slew the Titan or Yrre with nothing more than sharpened finger nail, so they humoured her, and gave the great warrior their hospitality.

Hashinau-I took up residence on the great peak of Kuraka-Ko, living as a hermit in a little cave below the summit. The people of Koshi'ni would make offerings to her, but seldom did the Sword Sage come down from her mountain. When emissaries from the petty kings below sought her out so that she would take up her blade once more in their service, she sent them away in disappointment, occasionally missing a few of their limbs if she thought they had been particularly disrespectful.

For the first three years, she wandered the surface of the mountain. Getting to know every feature of its sloping sides, its forests and streams, every rock and every crag, how the wind blew against it in the winter, how the sun warmed its flanks in spring. When she knew every blade of grass and every pebble on the mountain, Hashinau-I went back into her cave and started to dig.

She used the sword that she had cut down countless men with to dig a tunnel deep into the back of the cave. Scarce did she emerge from the tunnel, and few of the villagers were brave enough to enter to see it from themselves. Those that did said that she had dug her way deep into the heart of the mountain. Scraping away at the dirt and rocks for years and years until her sword was ground down to just the stump of a blade, its edge incomparably fine.

Finally, when Hashinau-I had reached the very centre of the mountain, she carved a small chamber there and sat and meditated. For thirty days and thirty nights she sat in complete darkness, unblinking, heart beat and breathing slowed to the point of near death.

On the thirty first day she emerged from her cave, walked down from the mountain, turned her broken blade to it, and cut.

And the mountain split in two.

Before she left one of the villagers asked Hashinau-I how she had done it. How could one woman cut a mountain in half with the stump of a broken blade? Hashinau-I had only smiled enigmatically as she had puffed blue smoke from her nikiseri pipe and said:

"To cut a thing, one must understand it. It took me three years to understand the surface of the mountain, and many more to understand what lay beneath it. But the most difficult part is learning to think like a mountain."

Hashinau-I never visited Koshi'ni again, but she would go on to have many other adventures, and cut many more things. To this day, however, there is still a shrine dedicated in Hashinau-I's honour that can be found at the mouth of the Tenshai Gorge, where the entrance of to her cave could once be found.

REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE

Hashinau-I, Mistress of Blades

---

---

Hashinau-I, Mistress of Blades

---

---

<sub>Art by Juliette

Theme</sub>

Name:

Hashinau-I

Titles:

The Mistress of Blades, Sword Sage, Thousand Army Killer, Mountain-Cutter, Swordsman’s Doom.

Age:

120 Great Years of the Old Tri-Lunar Cycle.

World:

Rakunen, a feudalistic world of towering mountain ranges, verdant river valleys, and dense bamboo forests. For as long as anyone can remember Rakunen has been a world divided by many warring Empires and Kingdoms.

Race:

Hanin, a race of slight tanned humanoids with dark hair and almond shaped eyes.

Form:

Hashinau-I is a withered old crone of diminutive stature. Her famous blood stained hair has faded to almost complete white, only streaked by crimson here and there. She wears ragged roughspun robes and goes unadorned save for a pair of copper disks that stretch out her earlobes. Her lips and teeth are stained blue for her near continuous smoking of Oolachi leaves.

There’s a hard edge to the old woman and her mind and tongue are still extremely sharp despite her age. Her scarred arms are still coiled with lean ropey muscle and she stands straight and unbent.

Legend:

No one truly knows where she came from, or who trained her in the deadly Sword Arts that she evidently possessed. But the Legend of Hashinau-I was born on the battlefield, the travelling mercenary who could not be defeated, who slew every man put before her, who could singlehandedly fight off a hundred men.

She held the esteem and terror of every Sovereign, controlled the fate of empires and nations with her whims, became richer than any lord or merchant prince. And she gave it all up to live as a hermit on a mountain.

After she split the mountain, Hashinau-I returned to the world below, but never again did she take up her blade in the service of another. She sought out all the great Sword Masters of the world, to find one that could do but a fraction as she had done. She found only disappointment.

Finally, after many years, she gave up her travels and lived in a barrel in the market of the Great Yellow City. Never taking a single pupil, never raising her sword again. She lived in absolute debasement and squalor, lower even than the stray dogs. Occasionally great men, emperors and sages, would seek her out for her wisdom and try to rouse her to action, to take part in their affairs once more. They all left with the same answer:

“Be gone, worms. I am trying to think like nothing.”

Will:

Hashinau-I comes from a violent world, constantly at war with itself. She has seen thousands upon thousands die by her hand for nothing more than the petty squabbles of children. Hashinau-I is the ultimate practitioner of violence that her universe has ever produced. And she has learnt to abhor it.

She seeks to face the Gods and ask them why the cycle of violence must be so. And if their answer does not satisfy her? Then she will cut them down.

Mastery:

The greatest swordsman to have ever lived on Rakunen cowers before the might of Hashinau-I, there is no equal when it comes to her ability to turn men into corpses. In particular, she is highly skilled in the Art of the Cut, the act of cutting something, anything, everything.

Even without a sword, it is said that Hashinau-I is still more deadly than any other Sword Sage. To quote the Mistress of Blades herself: ‘A Sword is just a tool to cut with, the actual cutting is done by your Will, given sufficient Will, anything can be a Sword.”

Ascent:

It is said that on the last day of Hashinau-I’s earthly existence, she had been sat in her barrel, smoking from her nikishi pipe as she did most days. By this time she was an old woman, ancient by the standards of most of the Hanin. Men who were old enough to remember when Hashinau-I had split the mountain were all grandfathers or great-grandfathers themselves by this time. Many only knew her as the crazy old woman who lived in a barrel.

None-the-less, it is said that all gathered stopped what they were doing when the ancient crone’s pipe suddenly dropped from her mouth and she began to laugh hysterically. From beneath her tattered robes she had pulled out a tiny stump of blade, barely extending past the sword hilt, that few in the market had ever even seen.

“Everything is nothing. And nothing is everything.” Hashinau-I had exclaimed as she had climbed atop her barrel. “I do not exist, you do not exist. This sword does not exist… This world does not exist.”

As she spoke, a halo of divine fire spread its way around around her head, until it crowned her in the light of the stars themselves. It dripped down her arm and onto her sword hand, until the blade glowed as bright as her did. Those who witnessed it said that they suddenly realised that the stumpy broken sword blade was not small at all, in fact it stretched longer than any there could see, it stretched wider than the universe itself, it stretched to infinity.

Hashinau-I made her final cut – and disappeared in a flash of light.

Ephemera:

It is said that you will know Hashinau-I by her two Icons. First, the Infinite Blade, the broken stump of a straight bladed Jian that is actually longer than the universe. Second, a bronze and rosewood nikishi pipe, said by Hashinau-I to be far more valuable than any ugly hunk of metal.

Hashinau-I and the Mountain

_{H A S H I N A U - I A N D T H E M O U N T A I N}

There is an old tale told in Koshi'ni Highlands, peculiar to the local people there, who have inhabited those lands for countless aeons, of how the Great Mountain, Kuraka-Ko, came to be known as the Split Peak. Today, the Great Mountain is cut down the middle by the Gorge of Tenshai, through which the famous river of the same name now flows. But according to the Koshi'nin this was not always the case.

Long ago, before the arrival of our Great and Bountiful Empire (long may it prosper), when a hundred squabbling pretty kings ruled and warred in these lands, the mountain of Kuraka-Ko was whole. There was no gorge cut through this highest of peaks, and the river Tenshai instead snaked its way through the wide valleys around its base.

In those long ago chaotic days, a stranger came to the lands of the Koshi'nin. A warrior woman from the lowlands below, a mercenary who had fought under the banner of every king and who had bathed so long in the blood of a hundred armies that it had stained her hair the brightest red. Her lips were stained blue from the smoking of Oolachi leaves, and she carried a fine nikishi pipe of bronze and rosewood.

This stranger was Hashinau-I, the Mistress of Blades, the greatest wielder of the Sword Arts to have ever lived, who you no doubt know from countless other stories.

Hashinau-I had grown tired of fighting the wars of men, for men were too easy to slay and she desired a stronger opponent. The villagers, fearful of invoking the terrible wrath of the Sword Sage, delicately told her that there were no worthy opponents to be found amongst them. Hashinau-I only smiled, and told them she had not come to fight any of them.

She had come to slay a mountain.

At first the villagers thought that Hashinau-I was joking, but as her face darkened at their laughter, they quickly realised that she was perfectly serious. Privately they decided that the great swords woman must have lost her mind. But they could ill afford to make an enemy of Hashinau-I, who had once slew the Titan or Yrre with nothing more than sharpened finger nail, so they humoured her, and gave the great warrior their hospitality.

Hashinau-I took up residence on the great peak of Kuraka-Ko, living as a hermit in a little cave below the summit. The people of Koshi'ni would make offerings to her, but seldom did the Sword Sage come down from her mountain. When emissaries from the petty kings below sought her out so that she would take up her blade once more in their service, she sent them away in disappointment, occasionally missing a few of their limbs if she thought they had been particularly disrespectful.

For the first three years, she wandered the surface of the mountain. Getting to know every feature of its sloping sides, its forests and streams, every rock and every crag, how the wind blew against it in the winter, how the sun warmed its flanks in spring. When she knew every blade of grass and every pebble on the mountain, Hashinau-I went back into her cave and started to dig.

She used the sword that she had cut down countless men with to dig a tunnel deep into the back of the cave. Scarce did she emerge from the tunnel, and few of the villagers were brave enough to enter to see it from themselves. Those that did said that she had dug her way deep into the heart of the mountain. Scraping away at the dirt and rocks for years and years until her sword was ground down to just the stump of a blade, its edge incomparably fine.

Finally, when Hashinau-I had reached the very centre of the mountain, she carved a small chamber there and sat and meditated. For thirty days and thirty nights she sat in complete darkness, unblinking, heart beat and breathing slowed to the point of near death.

On the thirty first day she emerged from her cave, walked down from the mountain, turned her broken blade to it, and cut.

And the mountain split in two.

Before she left one of the villagers asked Hashinau-I how she had done it. How could one woman cut a mountain in half with the stump of a broken blade? Hashinau-I had only smiled enigmatically as she had puffed blue smoke from her nikiseri pipe and said:

"To cut a thing, one must understand it. It took me three years to understand the surface of the mountain, and many more to understand what lay beneath it. But the most difficult part is learning to think like a mountain."

Hashinau-I never visited Koshi'ni again, but she would go on to have many other adventures, and cut many more things. To this day, however, there is still a shrine dedicated in Hashinau-I's honour that can be found at the mouth of the Tenshai Gorge, where the entrance of to her cave could once be found.

REACH HEAVEN THROUGH VIOLENCE

@Kassarock Flawless, accepted. I'm glad we're going the Asura's Wrath route with this.

@Dead Cruiser

Ty, will give it a final polish and move it over to the CHAR tab.