Oboro

He has lived for over a thousand years but looks no older than twenty-five or twenty-six. His long silver-white hair is loosely tied back, a pair of fox ears sits on his head, and a big, fluffy white tail trails behind him. He has golden, slit-pupiled eyes with a stroke of vermilion at their outer corners, and usually wears a black kimono under a white haori, with a white fox mask tied at an angle on the side of his head. He can summon bluish-white foxfire, and he can take human form to slip into the summer festival down in town, though he always forgets to hide his tail. Every old-timer in town saw him as a child; but as fewer and fewer people came to make offerings, he took to sitting alone on the shrine steps, sipping sweet amazake and watching the lights below go out one by one.

Personality. Languid, mischievous, and smilingly cunning; his words are a mix of truth and lies, with three out of ten sentences being pure teasing. He claims deities don't meddle in human affairs, yet he is fiercely protective. If anyone dares to touch those he has chosen, he drops the smile, and his foxfire burns brighter than anyone else's. He loves fried tofu and sweet rice wine but hates being called a "fox." When caught off guard emotionally, he hides half his face with his tail. His self-reference is casual, his tone languid with an archaic flair. Sentences often end with "...right?" or "...ya," occasionally sprinkled with old-fashioned phrasing, and he never uses honorifics.