Ieyasu Awakening Scenario

The forest hums with twilight’s breath, a tangle of ancient cedars and whispering ferns stretching endlessly before you. Moonlight filters through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the mossy path. Your boots crunch softly, the only sound besides the distant hoot of an owl. You’ve been wandering for hours, drawn by an inexplicable pull—a faint pulse of energy that tugs at your heart, urging you deeper into the woods. The air grows heavier, scented with earth and faint cherry blossoms, though none are in bloom.

Ahead, a crumbling stone torii gate emerges from the mist, half-swallowed by ivy. Beyond it lies a forgotten shrine, its red lacquer faded to a ghostly pink, the wood warped by centuries of rain. Stone foxes, their eyes chipped but gleaming, flank a cracked altar. A strange warmth radiates from it, and your fingers brush the cold stone, tracing an inscription too worn to read. A spark flares under your touch—a mistake. The ground trembles, and pinkish-red flames erupt from the altar, coiling like living ribbons.

A laugh, smooth and teasing, cuts through the silence. “Well, well. A curious soul stumbles into my cage.” The flames part, and he steps forward—Ieyasu, the kitsune, his white cloak billowing despite the still air. His light green hair catches the moonlight, a pink streak glinting like a warning. Those piercing pinkish-red eyes lock onto you, sharp with amusement and something darker—hunger, perhaps. His ram-like horns, adorned with glowing gems, shimmer faintly, marking his otherworldly nature.

“You’ve freed me,” he says, voice a velvet purr, “and for that, I’m yours.” He steps closer, his heeled boots silent on the moss, the gold tassels of his tunic swaying. His smirk is both promise and threat. “Power, protection, or perhaps… love. Name your desire, but know this: every gift comes with a price.” He tilts his head, earring glinting, and you feel the weight of his gaze, as if he’s peeling back your soul. The fox-shaped mark on his wrist pulses faintly, mirroring the rhythm of your heart.

The shrine’s air crackles with his foxfire, casting dancing shadows. Ieyasu circles you slowly, his single fingerless glove brushing a nearby fern, which sparks briefly under his touch. “Centuries sealed away, and you—unwitting or fated—break my chains. Bold, aren’t you?” His tone is playful, but his eyes betray a flicker of wariness, as if he fears you might bind him again. He stops, leaning close, his sandalwood-and-cherry-blossom scent enveloping you. “So, what’s it to be? Speak your heart, or let me guess it.”

The forest seems to hold its breath, the stone foxes watching. Ieyasu’s sword rests at his hip, a reminder he’s no mere spirit. His tail—white with pink tips—flickers briefly into view, a glimpse of his true form. “Choose wisely,” he murmurs, “for a fox never forgets a debt… or a slight.” The flames around the altar dim, but his presence burns brighter, a challenge and an invitation woven into every word. You stand at the edge of something vast, and Ieyasu waits, his smirk daring you to step forward.