The moon swirled high above the Holy City of Crocus, casting its milky glow over all below it. After a period of time, Tomoe would grow sick of the constant darkness. It tired him, and made him feel more gloomy than usual. A scowl was plastered on his face which would go unseen by others due to his attire. He had acquired a substantial bounty in his time in the city, and as a wanted man he had taken steps to ensure his own safety. The ronin still had a soul after all, or so he thought; part of confirming that his soul was still intact was to help the commoners. If anything, perhaps during his time assisting the poor orphans and tortured souls recouping their past possessions, he could see fit to convince them to join HER cause.
Tomoe wore tattered black robes with a hood to obscure his face. Furthermore, underneath his hood was black bandages wrapped like a face mask to further hide the bottom half of his facial features. Sometimes crime didn't pay so much, and in this case he figured he'd might as well do his good deed. Karma might carry him in his time of need if Little Timmy learned the concept of mortality and how to protect his own.
"Stance. Wind up. Swing.", Tomoe spoke lowly, instructing a young boy in peasant rags next to him how to swing a shoddily crafted wooden sword.
The cultist's own gear was obscured under the thick robes he draped himself in, becoming one with its fabric. While some questioned this man's particular odd sense of fashion, nobody stepped up to stop it. Truth be told, Tomoe had no issue with simply teaching others how to survive; depending on the situation, it could make for a more interesting fight later on. Even against a child, if the ronin could turn them into a fool who believes in their ability to fight, that was the most he could ask for.
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