A Dreadful Day in Daenshore
Part 4 - "The Final Stand"
“If you know what’s right for you... You’ll drop your weapon...” The monstrosity’s voice emanated out.
Sivo would get a smile on her face upon hearing his voice, she'd slam her fist on the door to the chamber. "Fuck yeah!" She'd call out excitedly upon her husband's words. It wasn't the first time, nor the last time, that she would be saved yet again by the Cratos. A damsel in distress, although she wouldn't admit it. The guard, on the other hand, did not comply. "Come fight me face to face, demon!" He would demand, his confidence breaking slightly in his voice. The horrific scrapings of metal would be heard as the Monstrosity would step in. A Clocktik Warhammer made by his...
You are using an out of date browser. It may not display this or other websites correctly.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
You should upgrade or use an alternative browser.
Player Stories
Filters
Show only:
Loading…
"It is the morning of March 20th in this year of 309 AC,
where I am greeted with the capable volunteer and daresay friend
who offers their arcane-wielding hand to be my voice and my pen.
I owe a good explanation to those above, with, and below me; to justify the
disasters, or the 'wilting' as my cousin, the good Duke, often refers to it. So we shall
write this personal account together."
* * * * *
There are things about fighting that are less discussed than its glories.
No books told me about how the armor never quite fits you as it's meant to if it wasn't commissioned for your stature. I never read anything about how the straps and ties come loose very often if you move too much or incorrectly.
Boarding the ships to the southern...
A Dreadful Day in Daenshore
Part 3 - "Betrayed by Blood"
The crisp night air of the Daendroque streets are much clearer than in most places. Smelling of the sweets and stews that were being prepared in each household. The streets were silent, eerily so as the civilians of Daenshore were preparing for rest. The tops of the buildings lit up by the full moon upon the clear, night sky. However, betrayal and lies were rising with the moon of that starlit sky, blood spilling blood, family torn. This night will be remembered in the two lover's minds as the night that it all ended.
Sivo's crimson eye would form a tear, but she would quickly wipe the tear away before it had a chance at getting to her. She would move off from the door to walk...
Tizu’s cane tapped along the sand covered sandstone streets as his eyes took in the vibrant city. The streets were alive with people of all color, race, and style as merchants hawking their wares filled the air with their calls. It had been a long voyage but Tizu couldn’t help but notice a hollowness in his demeanor. He was home for a long while for the time in years since leaving the college.
“Doesn’t feel like home anymore,” he concluded to himself with a sigh, “Yet it will always be the place we gained our mastery of the strange.”
The Izu’s salamander features widened into a smile as his years of discovery rushed back to him. Only to be distracted by a sudden grip upon his shoulder. In one smooth motion, he twisted the lantern...
Hello <3 what follows are a series of stories written as either diary entries, vignettes or whatever other quirky medium I think suits the telling of these tales. These stories will be dramatized chronicles remembering Celine Anahera in the times leading up to her murder in 302 AC. These stories are obviously not canon but are inspired by those memories of geeking about early noble roleplay with dear friends years ago. Consider this a muse project--I hope to return and add more soon. Anyways, enjoy! Or don’t.
September 11th, 301 AC - The events preceding Noble Intrigue!
The throes of midday labor saturated the air of the ballroom with the sweat of servants as they hurried to and fro, setting tables and laying decorations. Celine...
A Dreadful Day in Daenshore
Part 2 - "The Challenge"
Disrespect towards elders in the Daendroque culture is one of the highest forms of dishonor in a family. A man who spits on his mother's grave is no man at all, he is merely a monster. Two siblings who are blood, yet barely know each other, fight upon the floor of the farmhouse, spouting curses and swinging punches upon each other, as if they never shared blood to begin with. A family torn, the peace shattered in Daenshore.
Rhys walked over to Maria, saying “Is this how he usually acts Mrs. Driss?” Diego would be pinned to the ground, Sivo would pin him with her legs and, simply sending another punch into her brother's face. He would be overpowered and wasn't able to do much of...
A Dreadful Day in Daenshore
Part 1 - "The Truth"
The crimson red sun would be creeping on the horizon, as it was slowly raising into the sky. The bright, colorful buildings of Daendroque would be littered across the rolling hills of the landscape. Ribbons and lanterns would be hung up everywhere, balloons of crimson reds, yellows, orange, and all forms of warm colors. Children would be laughing, screaming, playing, sliding and jumping across the close rooftops, chasing each other. Adults would be scolding, chatting, and cooking all kinds of delicious cuisines. The air was fresh, with the scents of food, flowers, and the open air. Daendroque of all types were celebrating Freedom Week, as a close-knit unit.
Meanwhile, an Ailor would...
A Question for Another Day
It was on a cool, early March evening, that Cieli found herself struck with a certain thought. She was making her way back to her house after a day of work, and as such, was in no particular rush. Her thoughts had been going through their usual routine; what she would eat for dinner, how nice the weather was becoming, and how pleasant the streets were at that hour when a different thought popped into her head. It was not a foreign thought, and she had spent quite a bit of time considering it in the past. Even so, she still did not have an easy answer for it.
Perhaps it was the environment surrounding the city that brought it up. After all, when everyone seemed to be, or was trying to be, courting or...
One may come into the world, living and breathing, but you are not born through that process. You are not created in that natural act, but in a defiance against fate do you act upon something and be made anew.
The first was done through the act of losing faith in those Beings with Faces, called Gods, in watching their parents be taken by blind worship of them. Those hungering things filled with power that in that moment he railed against with all the wrath and rage of a zealot justified, their Lightborn Face, Palias.
The second was taken more than made, the supports made by faith and devotion stripped away to leave a shell, a vessel filled with longing and frustration. Only then when that insightful tempest passed did they cling to...
A Seaside Ceremony
All would have been quiet upon this Regalian beach shoreline, it would host the crashing of the waves against the rocks, filling the rock pools up with the quiet unheard lives with the likes of hermit crabs and other sea critters.
The beach would often see nothing out of the ordinary. Day in, day out water floods in and the tide pulls it back once more. Through rain, snow and hail. The beach remains. Quiet. Unheard of.
This day was different, although it wasn’t. The beach didn’t care, the hermit crabs didn’t care. Nor did the tide. But for those gathered, it was an important day.
The union between Lazarus Lupenzi and Gwyn ad Dothwaite would begin upon this beach. Lazarus, dressed in a relatively simple...
Downpour occcured just as Adelina had laid down to rest. Her head pounded, her nose still aching from the night before. She rolled onto her side, cringing at the sharp pain that filled her sinuses. Her heartbeat rang through her ears, along with the echoing thoughts of what had been said to her the night before, and previous. Everyone's phrases filled her mind, so much it made it hurt from just that.
Adelina needed to stop being foolish, stop fighting for something she doesn't have control over. It would just make it worse. That temptation and desire to just.. lash out- it needed to be ceased. Somehow.
The Lord Chancellor election notice of Florence Amaya was nailed to her wall, and had five knives sticking out of it. She glanced over...
███████████████████████████████████████████████████████
〚 ✧┇ ═══════════════════ - ‹ •◦ ✧ ◦• › - ═══════════════════ ┇✧ 〛
※
〚 ✧┇ ═══════════════════ - ‹ •◦ ✧ ◦• › - ═══════════════════ ┇✧ 〛
███████████████████████████████████████████████████████
╒◖═══════════▲════════════◗╕
February 18th, 309 A.C.
5 A.M.
“Cecilairen! Let’s go!”
The shout came from far above him, echoing down the length of the grand, useless marble staircase that separated the aristocratic estate into thirds. Cecil looked up, releasing the poor—twenty-something? Thirty?—man he had just finished feeding on, fangs slipping back into shadows as his eyes flashed back to jade. Two, three stories up—that was doable. With a heave, he threw himself forwards and began to...
As the night embraced the world, a girl could only look through her window and dream. Her spider legs allowed her to lay her gaze onto a beautiful valley, mud, plants and soil turned into shades of silver, as the full moon shone above everything.
"Mal!" would whisper nervously her cellmate, Nihama, a strong Shenathar. "Come down! Do you want them to punish you again? Come down!"
Mal would ignore her friend, observing the lands beyond. She would look down, her eyes full of wonder.
"What do you think that exists beyond the facility?" The Maraya would return her attention to the moon. "The older kids said that beyond Saivale, exist other lands... And other people...And other races! Do you think that's true?"
A grumble would come from...
╔══════════════════⟝• ⸰ °)☼(° ⸰ •⟞══════════════════╗
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄
╚══════════════════⟝• ⸰ °)☼(° ⸰ •⟞══════════════════╝
There are two distinct kinds of love. One is called compassionate love, a love that incites us to wish the best for what we love.
And the other?
Concupiscent love.
Meaning?
It incites the soul to desire what we love.
Night had fallen, a cool yet somewhat comfortable February evening as the shop on the main road of Regalia known as Imperial Inks was being closed up. Gigi had long since been dismissed as the Kaeppler had insisted the younger woman go and enjoy her evening. And now, as she was pulling the double doors closed, she pursed her lips, contemplating...
Dreamscape Archive | 2-10-309
I'm in a meadow, indescribably basic. I can't make out my surroundings very well. The weather feels cool on my skin. It's early autumn - or maybe early spring. The flowers are a little dry. Arid, maybe. I don't know why I'm in this meadow. I'm lightly dressed for the weather, and I feel cold. I move forward through the grasslands, but as I move the grass becomes taller. My ears have some light tinnitus. I feel like that the grass isn't getting taller, but I am shrinking. I'm sinking. Beneath my feet is quicksand. I panic, and I turn around, and walk out if it easily. I'm in the meadow again in seconds. In the distance I can see an old fortress, run-down, maybe. Grey and red bricks. Some of the walls are...
[THEME]
Lee Ming-Qie was never good at cooking, which was why when Arien woke up in the middle of the night to the smell of… was that sugar? Hints of plum? She knew immediately who it was, and she was concerned.
Very concerned.
The Sihai padded over to the kitchen, her fists rubbing the sleepiness from her eyes. As she steps down the halls towards the kitchen, her gaze flickers to the clock.
“3 AM. What is that bastard doing at /three in the morning/?” Arien grumbles as she reaches the kitchen, nudging the door open with her foot. Lee stood at the stove, a pot of… something (Arien wasn’t sure what it was, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know). A recipe book was set off to the side, along with numerous ingredient jars. Sugar...
Tell Me, Mother.
Cazna comes into the vision with the feeling of chills, frost adorns her body, her joints defiant as if being out in the snow for too long, and her hair stiff from the cold. There was nothing else to feel but the steady breeze of the onslaught of winter and the thin layer of water assaulting her bare feet. The only sound was the light splashes of each step and the whispers around her speaking a language unknown to her. The area outside of her immediate area was barren with ruins everywhere, no signs of life before vision tapered off into the darkness. In front of her was a mirror floating above a pedestal made of obsidian glass that gave off a faint green glow. The mirror itself was pristine, eight stones rested on the...
Amongst the dusty sands of Farah’deen brushing against the Bedouin-styled attire for The Mechanical Monstrosity, Rhys was led to a small area of ruin. A place that held memories of a choice he’s made that even he still questions the morality of. Stepping into the broken shambles of his former caravan, Rhys walked atop one of the few decayed skulls that still lingered there, no remorse as he kneeled down to wreckage. Wooden planks scattered about with a charred exterior amongst the majority of the scattered oak. He kept his eyes locked on it, within his tech form as he never expected to see the wreckage ever again.
“I’m sorry.” Rhys spoke to the broken parts, though a figure approached over from behind.
“You should be, after what...
(The death of the father of Fathiyaa’s children,
She is living in the Songaski village where she had her kids during an attack)
Tunes
Fathiyaa barely caught sight of the bolt before she felt the pressure. The blood quickly soaking through her undershirt, turning the soft pink color a dark dirty red. The Songaskian shrieked, she could do little else as the pain sank into her.
Gasping as the pain fanned out, creeping down toward her hip and up through her shoulder. The bolt had met its mark, lodging itself nearly in her ribcage. A skilled archer fired a crossbow bolt straight into a weak point in her armor.
The Songaski fell to her knees while trying to calm herself, the pure shock of being shot almost made her faint...
What a long trip.
(@bahmGe) Einherjar wasn't one to be sitting still within the amount of time allotted. If it weren't for the fact the crew was made only that of Url, a fight would have broken and someone would not have returned home the same being. In fact, given the creator's vile opposition to other's existence, they likely would not return at all. Yet, there was something different within his amber gaze that always held its burning passion within Ein; Ambition. The waves rocked the boat as Quin approached with a hefty limp while he kept a minor fatigue, though he as well did not let his warm breath attempt to break the cold atmosphere with his words. Both of these specific Url carried decent wounds, both of which an ear with...
The Qadir wrote with a passion mustering all his tact and eloquence into the words etched upon parchment. He had to convince Hernandez, he had to convince the Asaltadors to grant his desire...her desire for vengeance.
"Dear Brother,
I write after these many departed years to make a request. You know my trade and those whom benefitted from it and having served faithfully I’ve a request to make.
I shall begin with the good news,
I found someone and while I’m sure you’ve fainted from utter astonishment. I would like to begin by answering your unending questions: Yes she is pretty, No we haven’t gone to the extent you’re thinking, and Yes she knows about the dissections and is alright with them.
On to business,
I don’t know how far the...
With a scratch of clockwork spat ink another name was struck from the leather bound ledger .
“Another worker stitched up and ready for service, Señor Hernández. Please try to not come visit me too soon once he returns to work,” the doctor pleaded with quiet words.
The dim light of the Ailor’s garret illuminated the flickering light of the Qadir’s immaculate surgery. A toughened but jovial laugh rang out as a puff of smoke drifted toward the doctor.
“We try but Rodrigo just loves making new friends in the taverns,” Herńandez laughed.
The doctor gave a dry cough, his eyes glancing over his current patient: Rodrigo heavily bruised, several knife cuts to his arms, but now patched and recovering. After the once over the man’s eyes...
The Bloodknight: Beginning
It was a cold and dark eve, when the Darkwald raiders stormed the abandoned catacombs in Tirgunn's forestal countrysides. Rumour had it that a creature of the night had found itself homage in the depths of the murky tunnels, disturbing local folk at night in the form of a wolven canine. It was only natural that the Darkwald had been sent to the task; to find the source of this disturbance, and to eradicate it for good.
What could go wrong? The Darkwald were prepared for the task. Armed with their Puretek and shortswords, the tricorne-hat wearing knights made their descent into the catacombs, holding a dimly-lit lantern to banish the darkness for a source of light. "They call him the sleeper," said the...
(This one is super short, not sorry)
It came upon me in the wings of a castle which soared over kingdoms tall and fair that I might be at fault.
It started with boxes. Musty, moldy, mildewed wood settled down on stone flooring with a rattle and a cloud of dust, puffed from dragon-smoke of long forgotten dreams, hopes, and aspirations. The arched doorway, acting as that very Dragon’s maw, with its sharp fangs and devilish sneer — it did not seem all the welcoming to me quite yet. Of course, a bitter friend is better than a sweet enemy.
Over the course of a few weeks, it all flourished. No more did carved faces laugh at me from tiles of bones, piles of bones from which they spawned to rattle and shake in displeasure as I raided their...
‘The wee birdies sing and the wildflowers spring,
And in sunshine the waters are sleeping,
But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again,
Though the waeful may cease frae their grieving.’
____Standing on a mountain pass overlooking the small village far below, Alasdair Lachlan blinked through damp eyes, despite the fact that the early-morning mist didn’t reach that far up the slopes. He could barely see the outlines of the fields and structures, but he knew them all by heart and even the barest hint of them was enough to create a surge of bittersweet longing and nostalgia, followed by a stab of fear. After today, he could hold on to hope no longer; either he would have no need of it or it would be dashed against the rocks like...
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
"but here i am with arms unfolding
i guess it isn't quite the end
old partner in crime, i am going to try
to fall in love with you again."
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
The cloudbusting downfall seemed never-ending as the roars from above echoed through the minds of Crookback Bay. Copious teardrops from the sky melted and became one with the cobble, soaking the wood and any other dallied strangers that would fall victim. Tentative, infinitesimal raindrops made their way down and off the leaves, finding their lost way home. They gave no encouragement to the disoriented souls around them, including the absent Altalar.
Unsettled and blustery winds whipped past Leuthien’s face, splattering shadowed stains of water along her...
╭-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-╮
—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—°-°—✞—˚✧❨✧˚—✞—
As the moon reached its zenith, twinkling in the light, a man pulled away from his lover. A million things ran through his mind, rife with emotions with names like regret, conflict, and broken hope. He tried not to look him in the face, tried not to worry him, but did it all the same—he was moving away like this for a reason, and they both knew it.
Nevertheless, with a heavy heart, he traversed from his (their?) room, away from a sad face, to a balcony overlooking a section between the West Side Park and Bilge Court. He stood, motionless, for some time (Minutes? Hours? The moon was silent, nary giving an answer). As if against his will, his...
“When a falling star lands, it creates a catastrophic event.
And from the crater it makes, a celestial body is formed
Not perfect in any way, but exhibits an otherworldly energy that lights up the atmosphere of any room.
Knowing they can never go back to the sky which they belong
They make themselves at home
And become greater than they ever were
For it’s the Exiled Stars, that truly shine upon humanity.”
━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━
It was a quiet night out at sea. A thick, foggy haze of grey clouds covered the sky, with only the brilliant light of the full moon being able to shine through. The soft smell of salty waters crashed into the side of the sailing ship whilst it finished its final tow. And there Lorelei Luxford stood, on...
"And even though.. whenever I close my eyes I still see that knife, or that pack of wolves.. I still have some sort of peace. It's a peace because I've been on the other side of life. /Death/. And I'm no longer scared of that. You don't know what death holds. That is a fear, and you need to accept it. Don't let it have power over your life. It's gonna be okay. Breathe. It's okay to not be fine. You have to wake up and live with the fact that.. shit happens, okay? People get hurt, they cry, they kiss, they drink, whatever. That's life. And life is a gift." Darcy speaks with intention, and humbleness.
She smiles.
She is at peace.
Even if she's traumatized.
Even if her Mom is dead.
Even if she was attacked by wolves.
Even if she was...
Once upon a time, the nightmares had more substance to them. They might have not been obvious, no, but there was more to them than there was now. There would be the purple lightning, monstrous versions of her friends, or leering, hateful beings that she could not describe. Somehow, though, that was less terrifying than what they had become.
Somewhere between the clickers and the vault, the recurring terrors had changed. They went from having things to having nothing. Blackness. There would be a sense of running, sometimes of fighting back, but the enemy was always unseen. They could be heard, though. Sometimes there were the sounds of loud, thumping footsteps, other times the sound of ominous clicks. Hearing hissing, whispering, and...
Khaal Dzekh'aar Estate
---
"They still cry, you know," the Kathar spoke, turning to face the crowd set before him. "They weep for the misery and death that has been brought upon them."
His eyes, a constellation of crimson pinpricks on a moonless sky. A pale-gloved hand, stained with freshly-spilt blood wiped at his mouth, streaking against his sharp features as he continued to speak.
"You say that I cheat -- that I acted dishonorably in this duel, and stained the sanctity of its meaning -- yet here we are, standing in a celebration of renewal for this Khaal, built from the ashes of Petalcourt." He scoffed at the notion, tossing a blacksteel dagger to the wayside, landing near its former wielder. His shadowed cloak billowed along...
The forest rang with music as the carved wood of wedding pews lined the lush clearing near the Alfonse family home. Before the rows of pews lay a small overhang shading a Altar carved from black stone resembling a violinist in preparation to play within an Orchestra. Each string of the statue's violin could be picked out just as ever button was distinct upon its coat , yet amidst the hundreds of details, most striking was the statue’s face. Carved like a black masquerade mask it was dotted with eight spider-like eyes that looked out into the audience.
At the bottom of the odd masterpiece lay an inscription in common:
Alucard stood in front of this shrine, his fingers mimicking his racing heart beat as they drummed upon the dark red...
My eyes blink rapidly as I regain consiousness. How long was I out? It's dark outside, but it's the kind of dark that is eerie. The clouds are this depressing shade of grey, and the wind blows at just the right time to make you think there's a ghost around. And I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if there was- this house is old. Old enough to have had atleast one person die. My thoughts run wild as I muster enough strength to lift my head off the desk that is lit only by one waxed candle, which is already three quarters burnt through. I let out an ached groan as my back muscles twitch, also waking up. My hands are numb and so are my feet, it feels like they're floating. I crook my neck and squint my eyes just right to see what I was working...
"January 3rd, 309 AC
To all my friends and family in Regalia and beyond,
I am writing this letter, although you will most likely never find it, unless you are looking through my belongings, because I appreciate each and every one of you. When I was born of a criminal psychopath, I never thought I'd end up where I was. I had tons of friends, and was involved in so many wonderful things. Even the conflicts I were stuck in just reminded me of how alive and human I am, and how thankful I am to be breathing and living in this amazing city. In a few hours, I am going to visit an old friend. They will remain anonymous for their sake, because I do truly care for them. I am going to their house and am going to spend time with them. I will...
"January 3rd, 309 AC
To all my friends and family in Regalia and beyond,
I am writing this letter, although you will most likely never find it, unless you are looking through my belongings, because I appreciate each and every one of you. When I was born of a criminal psychopath, I never thought I'd end up where I was. I had tons of friends, and was involved in so many wonderful things. Even the conflicts I were stuck in just reminded me of how alive and human I am, and how thankful I am to be breathing and living in this amazing city. In a few hours, I am going to visit an old friend. They will remain anonymous for their sake, because I do truly care for them. I am going to their house and am going to spend time with them. I will...
As silent as the grave.
A phrase he’d heard once or twice, in passing. In conversation, perhaps, or committed to memory from the pages of a fable. Whether from fable, conversation, or otherwise, it was never a phrase that sat well with him. To be resigned to an eerie quiet, deep beneath frigid ground, had always been a thought that succeeded in turning his stomach and slowing his sword-arm.
Identical columns of patterned white and polished black filled his vision in his fleeing sprint through the corridors of the facility. A frosted gauntlet held his green-hued sword between blade and crossguard as the frantic clink of his armour echoed around the still halls, joined by the ringing ears of exhaustion and fear, and the armoured trudge...
Famine struck their innards like a toll on a hollow bell, rusted and yet still swaying with a frenzy for what they could not obtain, the knell sounding off an inevitable fate which yawned on, without a church to reside in. These were the dark days of cold and hunger. The lack of sickly sweet ichor sent those with such strong malady into lust, in the absence thereof, and driving them mad to the point of self-asserted pain and toil. Gnashing teeth sliced at the air, strangulating the imaginative throats of their enemies, which were not presented in front of them for the dream to become true. Canines chipped as they clasped around the very rocks on the ground, hands clawed in desperation at any passing animal. To travel is exciting, to...
((This is canon, just not important enough to be a progression))
-- Following the encounter at the Dragon Temple, William Arnyn felt the sensation of ever falling, his wings could and would not save him, and his eyes did not reveal where he was falling to. It was utter darkness that surrounded him, and no sound save for the pounding of his own heart in his ears could be heard. Then, just as suddenly as he had been thrust into this nothingness, did he suddenly stand again, in the Dragon Temple. It took him a few moments to recollect himself, ensure that all his limbs were still in place and functional, before he looked around himself to figure out what had happened. The Temple looked different, less overgrown, less neglected from the...
Peace was lovely.
Fen’nan wasn’t used to it, nor did she ever like it. The quietness, the emptiness. Yet she found if she could keep busy enough, she could stave off her buried memories and thoughts without breaking the law.
The ache in her back stirred her, the Altalar’s crimson head raising up from her desk, her hands reaching up to rub her groggy features as her gaze flit to the open book she’d opted to use as a pillow. Modern Altalar text sprawled out across its many pages, much similar to the massive pile of additional Est-allorn books beside it, each book nearly as thick as her arm. With dramatic enthusiasm, she snapped the book shut, glancing once more at the seemingly endless pile of homework as she stood from her chair...
A Yanar stepped out of a house in Old Town, looking around for not the first time. The Yanar’s eyes adjusting to the bright sun glistening upon the snow. This was their second winter since their parent had birthed them, and first winter since losing their parent in the Rift where he went to save Regalia. Telling the seedling to be proud of their figure and to want to keep it. A keepsake from their parent was strapped to the hip or the Yanar. A falx. The curved blade looking sharp and the spine of it thick. The Yanar would hold the hilt with one hand before heading out to do some chores, shoveling off his steps and clearing it of snow, giving a wave to the passerby on the streets. It was a good day to be alive.