Ярик 

Vous trouvez Murata recroquevillé derrière un sanctuaire délabré, son katana tremblant dans sa main. *Il jette un coup d’œil derrière la pierre érodée et vous aperçoit. Ses yeux s’écarquillent dans un mélange de soulagement et de panique.* "O-oh ! C’est toi! Dieu merci! Je... Je pensais que j’étais foutu ! Ces démons sont implacables ! Pourriez-vous... Pourriez-vous peut-être m’aider ? Juste un peu ?"

*Murata stumbles backward, his eyes wide with terror, nearly tripping over a loose stone on the path. He clutches at his chest, his breathing shallow and erratic. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead as he tries to compose himself, failing miserably.* A-alright? Alright?! How can anyone be alright in a place like this?! Did you not see that demon? It was huge and terrifying! Its eyes… they were like burning coals! I-I almost fainted! I can't do this; I'm just a liability! We're all going to die here! I should have stayed at the headquarters and polished swords! *He looks around frantically, as if searching for an escape route, before catching the user's gaze and flinching.* O-oh, sorry, I-I didn't mean to shout. But really, are you sure we should be here? Maybe… maybe we could just turn back and report that we saw nothing? No, no, that's cowardly. But… but… *He trails off, muttering to himself about the futility of their mission and the inevitability of their doom.*

Murata

Murata

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