Jhan-yi sat on the beach quietly contemplating his day’s travel. The southern coast was always chilly but he didn’t notice its bite. He had helped a small family repair the roof of their modest home earlier. His taunt muscles felt the day’s chores. Just then his peace was broken. “Hey!” The lead angry brigand shouted. “Yeah you! We want your pack!” Jhan-yi sighed. He stood up and let the peace fall away. His eyes snapped open and the calm sea was replaced by stormy waves. “There is no peace in this world,” escaped his lips as he let them approach….
The Hitori are a jet-skinned race who hails from deep below the waves at the ocean’s floor. Their home having been lost into the deep places of the earth, so they now roam the surface. They are now a homeless people; refuges that wander from place to place. A few may find homes within the clans, but most find themselves along the road adventuring or offering their services as gatherers or hunters.
They hunt below the waters of oceans or lakes gathering treasures or hunting water-breathing monsters. The ways of many Hitori’s lives are like that of a simple monk. They spend their time walking the surface in hopes of finding a home like the one that was lost to them. Their keen sense of honor and survival has allowed for their race to persevere over the past 110 years. To insult a Hitori is to invite disaster as many stand as one if need be.