Fantasy [CS] Exalos - The Last Kingdom

[Malphaestus]

EXALOS

The Last Kingdom​

Exalos - The Last Kingdom is an action roleplay set in a darker universe inspired by works like Dark Souls and the Divina Comedia (amongst others), and this is its CS section. A world with its end closely at hand struggles with its dying breaths remain alive; the Lowlands are being consumed, steadily, by a growing menace without face or shape, leaving all in its wake as nothing but ash and dust. Those who now survive, are the last amongst the living, the refuse of humanity who fled from home and country to survive, or for a higher purpose; a quest. Whatever reason there may be, they now find themselves faced with their greatest obstacle. An eon-old gate blocks the entrance into the fabled lands of the Exalossi, mythical beings who can surely save the world from its damnation.


(Optional Image is placed here)

General Information - (A general information description of your character).

Name: this location is for the name of your character; the name they go by. Whether it is their given-name or not is of no concern.

Title: this location is for characters whose renown is adept enough to be granted a title of honour, or a name of renown. Titles may be based on the cultures of a character's homeland, and as such may present themselves differently.

Prestige: Your character may have a prestige score of 0-90; 90 being equivalent to a ruler of exceptional renown amongst the lands of the lower planes. Prestige score measures the likelihood of which characters within the story will known about you. Lowlanders and Exalossi share different prestige barriers, and the likelihood that a 90-prestige character be recognized amongst the Exalossi is therefore less likely than with a lowlander.

Age: Self-explanatory, its purpose is for people to better understand your character and their experience/inexperience, as well as help others understand your physique and dispositions.

Class: There are no set classes, and as such this section will revolved around one or a few keywords, and your description of them. For example, if your character is of the "soldier" class, then you must describe what type of soldier they are in this section.

Appearance: Optional segment if you provide a good image to accompany your character. If you are unhappy with some portrayals in the image, you may further explain your character here with the image as a basis as well.

Personality: A typical and rather universal segment, this part exists for you to describe the various traits and personality quirks of your character. Please refrain from merely providing a list of various traits, as that does not very well allow me and others to understand how your character will behave. You can, however, provide a list of traits if your character presentation is adequately presentable.

Background: This location helps me, and others, know about your character's background and how they became who they are. Please pay special attention to this segment as it is the one I pay a lot of attention towards. You are granted a lot of freedom in how you present your character's origins, as the world of the Lowlands is immensely vast and home to any number of cultures and nations. Do not be afraid to create something of your own, in fact you need that skill to be able to participate in this roleplay, as with many others, but utilize that skill to its utmost here. There are many in our Discord who would be willing to aid you in that process.

Other: Self-explanatory.


Combat Information - (Information pertaining to your character's combat performance).

Skills/Abilities (magic goes here, if applicable): If your character has learned some sort of special technique or magic during their times in the lower planes, please explain them here. Understand, also, that warriors of Exalos are of an entirely different breed than whatever those who herald from the lowlands, and this is a fact known to your characters, as they are percieved almost mythic in nature. Magic is a channelled power, with powerful spells requiring a comparably powerful channeller. Magic is, however, a rare power. Not so rare as to be mythic, but rare enough for it to only be in sparse usage. How a mage is capable of learning new magic is based on knowledge and understanding of the world around them, be this through earned knowledge, or years of scholarly pursuits.

Artifact/Heirloom (if applicable): If you herald from a distinguished family, you may perhaps have access to some form of artifact or heirloom of considerable power. The nature of this heirloom/artifact is up to your own disgression, but I might demand you limit it in case it is far too powerful.

Weapon(s): In case you wage combat with something other than your artifact or heirloom, describe them here.

Style Description: This section is rather free-form, it is used for you to explain how you might fight in a general term. If your character has a distinct draw towards defensive stances, or is an aggressive warrior/mage. It helps me envision the battles that will occure during the story.


Character Presentation - (A narrative segment which allows you to present your character to me in a more narrative format. Adaptation of the format is possible, if you want to make the character presentation section into a more storylined manner. Basically, what is below is the events through which your character will react, how they do so, and how you present it to me in this section, is up to you).

The First Step: The western realm of the Empire of Dawn signals all lands of the lowlands, and the western realms to utmost alert; the mighty Dragonfleet has spotted a nefarious menace off the coasts of the Dawn's Shore, stretched across the entire western-edge of the continent of the Lower Planes. They demand of their tributaries resources and tools, and of their enemies cease fires and enmities. The Dragonfleet prepares their sails and ships to drift along the seas against the menace and defend the shores, but when you recieve these news, be it through minister or courier, town gossip or government-hired townspeakers, how do you react?

The Second Step: The gilded sails once risen high above any port on the western shores of the Dawn, now lie battered and ashen as they drift ashore, their presence the only indicator of the battle they waged across the stormy seas. The Dragonfleet's once mighty flames quenched by the ruthless sea they had now found themselves entombed within. The Emperor of the Dawn has sealed his palace, and together with his most esteemed advisors, he demands all forces of the Legions of Legend to withdraw their postings, and march westward, against the sea-walls of the western shore. Those opportunist amongst their enemies find their assaults met with little but unknowing civilians and militant militia armed and armoured by worried lords and local merchants, and those obedient to their lord see even greater demands arrive at their doors; men and pikes, knights and horses, all are requested by the once indomitable and monolithic entity which spread across the many miles of the coast.

The Third Step: The red rain fell heavy unto our castle walls, collapsing as they passed, leaving naught but ash and cinders at their wake. When faced with the face of pike, the steel would vanish, and the wood would rotten. When faced with shield and sword, the shield would shatter, and the sword would turn into smoke. When faced with great numbers but the weaker skilled, the icicles of red tossed them aside like they never mattered, and when faced with my guard, the storm waltzed in and the palace sanctum fell around me as it did. These were the last words ever recieved by the Emperor of the Dawn to the rest of the world, a story many thought of as ludicrous, until the supposed red rain quickly started to swoop across the rest of the countryside further inwards from the Empire of the Dawn's demense. It would seem that, whether cooperation, indicision, or averseness would not matter. The fabled legions of legend, gold-clad and skilled without apparent equal; guardians of the Trade Lines along the western shores of the Dawn sea, were nothing against what the Emperor had warned.

The Final Step: Nations have now been razed, and many desperate calls have been recieved by all realms along the lower planes. The situation was dire without equal, and doom was certain as things stood. As the red rain, the miasmic presence which covered the the western horizon, grew ever closer, so too did nations and their rulers and peoples grow more desperate. Salvation had to be found, somewhere. There had to be an answer, wherever it be, whatever it be! There was no salvation to be found, none! Doomsayers gained further prevalence in society and melancholy and despair grew with increasing popularity. The stores and stables grew low on supplies as farmlands and cities grew further divided and logistics grew further and further disorganized. There was no other option! Seek safety amongst legends and myths! Those who would remain now fled eastward, towards Exalos.

 

[Lekiel]

ACCEPTED

Why should our fates be written in the stars, when we can grasp it in the palm of our hands?​

GENERAL INFORMATION
NAME: Nuelehtil (Nu-leh-till) an`Aoi - an`Aoi basically indicates that she is of the ruling lineage of clan Aoi. Contrary to fal`Aoi, which indicates that the person is from clan Aoi, but not of direct lineage from the ruling family. This surname is usually omitted unless giving an introduction in formal settings.

PRESTIGE: 15. The only daughter of a chieftain of the largest, though relatively obscure, nomadic tribe in the Southern Hinokian Highlands. Southlanders may recognize the Aoi clan name, but may otherwise not know of Nuelehtil unless in possession of specific knowledge of the cultures in the southern regions.

TITLES:
Drifts As The Wind - All Hinokian tribesmen and women are given a title to go along with their namesakes at birth by the Hinokian Starsages; this may change if something noteworthy happens to them during and after their lifetime.
11th Candlemaiden - A title granted to the night watcher charged with lighting the outermost Glimmershroom in case of an attack on the clan. Children of the clan chiefs by tradition, are not permitted to be the 11th Candlemaiden as they are the first line of defense against the sworn enemies of the Hinokian people; the trolls. As such, many 11th Candlemaidens barely last a single yearly Cycle. The title is irrelevant outside of the Hinokian tribes and to those uninformed of the Hinokian ways.

AGE: 27

CLASS: Spellweaver - The spellweavers are deft and agile dancers of the Hinokian Tribes, using magic in the form of spellthreads to puppet Marionettes of varying sizes, including that of dismembered body parts. When they come out of the Hinokian Highlands to trade with the settlers, they often perform theatrical plays of macabre humor known only to the Hinokians.

APPEARANCE: Sapphire almond shaped eyes, dark cocoa brown long hair. Small busted and athletic, though still in possession of a relatively feminine build... ..

"Why? You interested?"​

Height: 5 ft 4... shutup!

"A typical psychotic woman who will maim you in your sleep to expand my horde of dismembered limbs..." The blue-eyed woman answers in an almost freakish offhanded way. "I'm just kidding." She adds after a moment with unblinking eyes. Despite her assurances, you can't help but feel a little conscious of your exposed arms; that is until you catch her wink.​

PERSONALITY:
Nuelehtil Drifts As The Wind, as is her namesake, has a rather short attention span and even shorterheight patience. While she is quick-witted, often excelling and remaining cool-headed in unpredictable circumstances where others might break under duress, she has a tendency to rush things where a more methodical approach would be of greater benefit. There are only a few things wherein Nuelehtil would spend extra care on, such as tinkering on her marionette, Kalla. Nonetheless, she grew up with an endearing precociousness, a trait which carried into adulthood enabling her to learn new things quicker than most, assuming she put her mind to the task.

Talkative to a fault, she has an insatiable curiosity to turn over every stone, squint into every horizon, pick through people's thoughts, spy in between closed windows... no, seriously!

Raised amongst theatrical thespians (and artisans), she has developed a subconscious flair to embellish her words for more dramatic effect, making her just a tad bit less reliable when it comes to relaying information. *cough*

That being said, she occasionally has more somber moments, ever since she fled from her people and homeland when the red miasma descended upon them.
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BACKGROUND:

The City of Shang`Te, famed for its resplendent wealth,
with streets of stardust and towering monuments of exotic ivory,
its rivers flowing with gold and trades of purple pelts and show,
elite men armor agleaming fighting all and any foe,
through the lands of dust and dirt,
a Jewel an Oasis,
a respite of Pride rising dauntless against the cloudless sky,
from this they are emerged,
a perfected image they stir,
shows of nay they purge,
under the sun's glorious rays they raise,
golden flags with their words of dust and ancient old,

Woe to those who stand in our way,
Jade Lions will terrorize you,
our armor will deflect you,
your shields our swords will sunder,
for behold the might of One who leads us,
Lye hini`Hinokah, hini en`malanar,
gorga lye naara aure!
(We who are the children of Hinokah, children of the Eastern Star,
fear our purifying might!)
Now please my friend I beseech thee,
join us in glory,
join us in Stories of our ancient old!
​

~Prologue: Wanderers of the Old Path​

Hinokians. Wanderers of the Old Path. Children of Hinokah the Glorious Light, He Who Dwells Within The Eastern Star, Saviour Of All. It is difficult to distinguish what is history and what is legend. But ask any Hinokian and they will have you know they are a peoples descended from a time before Time. For their repute no one could dispute, for no being, no book, no ancient tree nor etched story, could tell of the time when the Hinokians never wandered the Southern World. They claim the Southern Deserts once hallowed ground, now accursed until such time their God returns from among the eastern stars. Venture not into the southern wastes they said, and so they sojourned, living and breathing amidst the Highland mounts. Suffice to say that you need not know more, of their past and dust. Tis enough to know strange folk they may be, with humor both dark and gold, they are all that stands, between us and the wretched trolls!

-Excerpt from The Histories of the Southern Lands, as chronicled by Fleming Wintersworth, chief librarian of Harrowdown-​

Nuelehtil Drifts As The Wind was born as the only daughter and younger of two children to the chief of the Aoi Clan, the largest of the eleven Hinokian Tribes that called the foothills of the Hinokian Highlands their home. Though they have always been known as nomads, a consensus from the leaders of all the Hinokian tribes was struck, resulting in the Aoi Clan giving up their nomadic lifestyle to better act as a diplomatic and trading intermediary between the Hinokians and the villages of the Lowlands. Far from their citystate lieges, these villagers often have trouble receiving aid against the various beasts that roam the southern reaches, especially the hordes of Mountain Trolls that roam the Highlands. As such, a bargain was struck with the Hinokians, protection in exchange for tributes and gifts of goods from the northern lands. This suited the Hinokians just fine as they considered the trolls pests who defile their roaming lands.

Other than just hunter-gatherers, the Hinokians were also famed for their traveling theatrical plays, artisanal crafts of exotic fabric, dyes, woodworks and ivory equipment. Their peoples were of varied trade, carpenters, boneshapers, weavers, tailors, toymakers, puppeteers, bards, thespians, shamans, and deadly masked warriors wielding scythes, known as Macabres.

Nuelehtil grew up under her father's careful guidance, learning his trade of toymaking and the responsibilities of a benevolent leader's daughter. The skill came easily to her, like almost all things, and she quickly learned to experiment on different woodworking contraptions on her own. And when she was not tinkering, she helped to maintain and construct more marionettes for the puppeteer warriors of the Hinokians, the Spellweavers. Sooner than her father had hoped, Nuelehtil exhausted the varied list of things she could do within the confines of the tribe mostly because nothing seemed to be able to arrest her attention. And when she asked to either follow one of the many theatrical caravans or train with the Macabres, her father quickly released her to the less dangerous of the two.

So it was, that at the age of thirteen, she left to join Master Weaves Fine As Silk on his caravan. For five years, she traveled all over the Southlands training in the art of Spellweaving and entertainment. Sheltered within her tribe during her early years, the experiences and sights she saw blew her mind. Stories of fabled kingdoms, legendary knights and heroes entranced her. Though her heart still lay with her family and homeland, there wasn't a week where she would not beg Master Weaves FIne As Silk to take the caravan further but always, she was met with the same answer. A simple smile and the shake of a head. Disheartened, but no less eager to see more, she vowed to become a great Spellweaver and lead her own caravan out into the horizon's horizon. All that changed when she returned home just shy of her 18th birthday to find that her beloved brother had been severely wounded during a troll raid on the clan. Though alive, he was half paralyzed. To say that the once proud chieftain-in-making was merely broken was an understatement. Anguished and seething with rage, she retreated from the sorry sight to deal with her emotions.

It was then that she stumbled upon a dusty gilded chest abandoned in one of her father's storing tents. Wanting something to distract herself, she dragged the casket out under the moonlight and opened it. Inside, was a marionette of smoothest ivory and milk white wood. Under its collar and carved into its back, was the name 'Kalla'. And when she wove her spellthreads upon it, Nuelehtil immediately knew Kalla was no ordinary marionette. Armed with her newest discovery, she marched up to her father and demanded an explanation. He told her of her great grandmother, greatest of all the 11th Candlemaidens. And who went mad because of the accursed doll, disappearing into the misty highlands without a trace.

Undeterred, Nuelehtil disregarded her father's warnings, callowly threatening to rush off into the wilds to kill as many trolls as she could if she was not allowed to use it to avenge her brother and those that had fallen. This was obviously a bad idea for the young adolescent, especially in her current emotional state. Short of locking her up, Chief Wise As An Owl relented and made a deal with his daughter. She could keep Kalla and be given a chance to serve as a warrior, but first, she'd have to train in the art of battle. Nuelehtil relished the opportunity, thrusting herself wholly into the training sessions until her inevitable anointing by the elders as a Candlemaiden. It was said that the trolls could smell a man from miles away, but had difficulty detecting girls. Thus, the Hinokians entrusted a group of highly trained female spellweavers to be their tribe's eyes and ears during the more vulnerable time of night. They split their group into two shifts of five and six girls, covering all possible attack routes. The second shift ended just before dawn, with the Candlemaiden furthest out from the tribe's clan watching over the most likely route of attack. This would be the 11th Candlemaiden, the infamous position wherein many lives were lost to defend the tribe. And it was this position that Nuelehtil stubbornly sought out, much to her father's chagrin. And hold it Drifts As The Wind did, together with the accursed marionette Kalla. For many long cycles, until one fated day, a messenger from the outer lands rode into the Aoi clangrounds.

OTHER: Nuelehtil's Theme - The Festival of Hinokah
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COMBAT INFORMATION
SKILLS & ABILITIES:
Puppetry - Those who have heard of the fabled Hinokian Theatrical Caravans would be well aware of their enrapturing marionette performances. Despite that, the Hinokian Spellweavers and their marionettes have a darker and more deadly side to their craft. Using spellthreads, Spellweavers can animate armed and armored marionettes to cut through their foes in swathes of crimson from a safer (stone's throw) distance. Spellthreading is not limited to just control over marionettes but can also animate other, more gruesome, objects such as the severed limbs of their foes. It is not unusual to see a Hinokian Spellweaver purposefully dismember an opponent just to smash its head in with its own leg. The strength of a severed limb depends on the power of the Spellweaver. It is not uncommon for an adept Spellweaver to achieve similar reflexive action from a severed limb as if it were attached to the original body. However, the size or total mass of the controlled objects is highly dependent on the skill of the Spellweaver.

In Nuelehtil's case, she can control a handful of severed limbs or three marionettes of roughly humanoid size or a single 'hulker' (large body such as that of a fourteen-foot dire bear). Spellthreading can even work on 'live' subjects, however, the movement compulsion ceases the instant the subject regains consciousness. Legends have told of ancient Spellweavers who are able to compel even live subjects, but whether such is possible remains to be seen.

Salka Gurtha - Translates to, Dance of Death. Salka Gurtha is a special martial art unique to the Spellweavers, allowing Nuelehtil to control various types of marionettes with deadly poise whilst still remaining aware of their surroundings. During the carnage of Salka Gurtha, the Spellweaver can be seen as if performing some sort of macabre twisted dance, coaxing their marionettes into soulless automatons of death. However, proficiency in Salka Gurtha does not translate to the person. Practitioners of Salka Gurtha are as harmless/harmful as an ordinary peasant. In fact, Spellweavers are discouraged from practicing complex martial combat as it is said to interfere with the ability. Nevertheless, this does not stop them from studying the theory behind other fighting styles to incorporate into their marionette fights.

Nimble Prancer - Though lacking in strength and martial prowess, Nueleltil has excellent spatial awareness both from being an accomplished performer and the longest lasting 11th Candlemaiden in three decades. Able to contort her body in an instant as well as performing acrobatic feats with practiced ease, she is more than willing and capable at getting the fuck out of dodge when she cannot beat you.

Exceptional Needlework - Cause pretty dresses are so.... PRETTY!!! O.O

Toy Tinkerer - A trade she picked up from her father as it does help with the upkeep of marionettes. She is also fond of wood carving.

Stomach Disturber - Drifts As The Wind thinks she can cook. Please don't let her.

ARTIFACT/HEIRLOOM:

Kalla. A humanoid marionette made of blasted Harghaast wood and Ancient Orrok Wyrm ivory, incredibly rare and strong materials. Kalla once belonged to Nenil Of The Red Mist, Nuelehtil's great grandmother whom she never met. It was said that in her prime, Nenil the 11th Candlemaiden would often refuse to light the Glimmershroom during a troll attack, preferring instead to engage the brutes in combat. Oftentimes alone against multiple adversaries, she would set about slaughtering the trolls until their agonized howls would alert the other Candlemaidens to the attack. Arriving on the scene, they would behold a bloodbath. Many would claim that the very air misted with troll blood as Nenil danced gracefully alongside Kalla, a wicked smile painted across her face as the trolls succumbed to their wounds only to be choked by their very own hands. Thus Nenil became the maiden Of The Red Mist. The scene of carnage was so severe that the frequency of attacks against the Aoi clan dropped drastically, and never quite recovered to the present time. Despite the countless lives undoubtedly saved by Nenil and Kalla, it was said that the marionette became cursed; having drank the blood of a thousand trolls. Nenil's mind steadily deteriorated, and she became more and more bloodthirsty. The clansmen even noticed that Nenil had begun speaking to Kalla as if the marionette were alive, and though it was not unusual for Spellweavers, the things she said and the maniacal look in her eyes did nothing to dispell the eerieness of the situation. Then on one fated dawn, Nenil the 11th Candlemaiden did not return from her watch. Search parties found nothing, except the accursed marionette resting against a blasted oak. Some said that Nenil had finally fallen to the trolls, though many doubted that were true. Nenil had simply vanished.

And so, Kalla remained with the Aoi clan; untouched for years. For it was not that nobody wanted to put the marionette to use, but rather the very nature of its construct made it incredibly difficult to control, let alone master. It reacted far too sensitively for even the most talented Master Spellweavers to control, especially with its use of multiple concealed blades within the marionette's voluminous sleeves. And those that tried, claimed they heard the voice of a young girl screaming for blood every night in their sleep; even after putting it away for weeks. The day a young Nuelehtil chanced upon an old casket in her family's troves, was the day cursed Kalla's bloodstained ivory blades glinted once more under the light of a full moon in decades.

Kalla stands at exactly the same height as Nuelehtil when fully assembled. Her array of up to a dozen Orrok Ivory blades lay hidden throughout its puffed velvet sleeves. Despite a large part of it being made of wood, its core frame is no less susceptible to fire than steel.

WEAPON(s):

Bonemuncher - An exceptionally well crafted, sharp but otherwise ordinary ivory sickle. Gifted to Nuelehtil from her brother. Ideal for quickly sawing through bone.... yum!

STYLE:
Specialty: Bruteslayer - Nuelehtil is best at fighting larger albeit, relatively quick foes. As they are the sworn enemies of the Hinokians, she has vast experience fighting trolls and similar ilk. The wilds of the Hinokian Highlands are also home to various large beasts adding to the variety of hulking monsters the Spellweaver would have to deal with on a common basis. Additionally, marionettes are either exceptionally durable or easily replaceable, allowing them to bear the brunt of an attack or keep the beasts occupied for others to sneak in a fatal blow.

Specialty: Entrenched Awareness - Given reasonable time, Candlemaidens can spread a web of spellthreads over their immediate vicinity, allowing them to utilize their finely tuned senses and magical threads to alert them to incoming danger. Thus, the longer Nuelehtil remains in a particular area, the less likely she is to be taken by a sneak attack or ambush.

Weakness: Too Close For Comfort - Nuelehtil can deal with swarms of relatively unintelligent foes with ease by controlling up to three humanoid sized marionettes to form a defensive/offensive perimeter around her. Nonetheless, should significant numbers overwhelm the perimeter, she will be forced to go on full defensive (or coward mode). So no choppy choppy for Kalla =( A similar problem arises if the one up-close to her is a proficient and intelligent (average human) fighter.
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CHARACTER PRESENTATION

Spoiler

I shall endeavor to address all four steps in story form

It is difficult to say the exact moment I felt it. It could've been the sudden whiff of putrid scent on the wind, a tangy metallic taste harsh on the palate of my mouth. But that would've been impossible of course... there was no way the stench of ruination could've traveled so far... Presentiments perhaps. The kind that inexplicably lashes out of the depths of your most basal instincts, as your heart begins to pump at an alarming rate. Fingers drenched in cold-sweat. A crippling foreboding of something concealed by the tenebrous mists of fate. Swift As Rain giggled it off, something about the 11th Candlemaiden finally getting cold feet.

But this... this is different. Elder Always Farseeing was empathetic, but I can't help but always feel treated like an adolescent having her first nightmare around him. The stars do not reveal anything was all he had said.

I should've insisted. I always did.... I don't know why-- I didn't.

When the Harghaast trees bloomed for the first time in over fifty years... I knew then... Somehow, in the pits of my stomach I knew then... that it was too late. Those delicate petals of fragile black. I will never forget that sight. Beautiful, and yet...

Horrifying.

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Prologue Pt. 1 - Nuelehtil Arc
​

The shrill whistle of a morning bird cuts through the silence of the rocky mountainside like the break of the dawning sky. Its echoes were harsh on her sensitive ears, strained as they were throughout the bleak night. Like the thousands of nights before it. She tucked the warm furs closer about her.

Without opening her eyes, she answered the call with a whistle of her own. Softer... and perhaps, tinged with a little annoyance. Minutes went by and still, nothing disturbed the tranquility of the early morning mists.

Then she felt him approach through the minute tremors on her fingertips. He was stealthy, even for a Macabre. But Drifts As The Wind was no ordinary Candlemaiden; she was The 11th Candlemaiden. She felt the slight tickle at her throat, soft as the touch of a strand of hair. A dagger's caress.

"Someone's getting sloppy..."

Her ears twitched at the smooth whisper.

"Am I, now?" She retorted languidly.

Ablaze In His Heart started as he felt the pointed end of a dagger press into his exposed nape. Though it did not pierce his skin, he had the feeling the one behind it was pushing it to the farthest border with its thrust. Carefully, he twisted his shoulders to look over his back.

Behind him, with its ever vacant ivory facade, was the accursed object. Dressed in all its splendorous puffed sleeves of carmine red and browns.

Kalla.

He nearly spat its name out of habit. He'd never get used to it. Turning back to the woman whose head he now cradled in his arms, and by cradled I mean a chokehold, he muttered somewhat irritably.

"You know how much I hate that thing."

"Oh yes I do, Lavellan... yes I do." Her voice was muffled under the constraints of his arms, though she made no move to struggle.

"You're incorrigible." He chuckled, releasing the woman to step back and help her to her feet.

"When am I not?" She returned playfully, a grin painted on her lips. He pulled his painted mask back over his head so that he could look at her in full.

"Nae saian luume’ Nuelehtil, cormamin lindua ele lle!"
TL: It has been too long Nuelehtil, my heart sings to see thee!

"As does mine, Lavellan." They pressed their foreheads together in greeting, and Nuelehtil finally allowed herself to relax, savoring the familial warmth of close company. Such was their morning ritual, for close to three thousand nights.

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"The Outlander has returned?!" She could not keep the excitement out of her voice. They were headed back to camp, passing by the other Candlemaidens along the way. But the sudden revelation from Lavellan caused Nulehtil to pause in her stride. The intensity of her interest in the matter all too plain.
Note: Step 2

"Well... yes..? and... no." Ablaze In His Heart scratched at the back of his head, suddenly regretting his decision to tell her of the visitor. She would question him until the sun hung high in the sky. They would never reach home in time to catch the best cuts of breakfast at this rate. "What I meant to say was... yes, he is from the same place as the first... but no, he is not the exact same one... He arrived during the night, half dead... perhaps beset on by bandits." Lavellan shook his head sadly.

"He passed out from his wounds, once he delivered his message."

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Her bowl of vegetable stew sat steaming by her side, barely touched. Nuelehtil was on an empty cot, across from the still figure swathed in bandages wetted by healing unguents. Except for the barely perceptible rise and fall of his chest, the person might as well have been dead. There were so many questions she wished she could ask him. Questions she had not been able to ask the first before her father sent him away. Had he not been so condescending he might've lasted long enough for her to return from her duties to sate her curiosity herself. He was too far from home, and the significance of his fabled lord emperor held little to no bearing on the Southern Lands, let alone the Hinokians. A sudden demand for tributaries and resources to fight some foreign war would not be received on good faith. The first Outlander was lucky to be sent away with his life. Still, the news he brought troubled no one. No one except her. But there was nothing she could do about it, not without sounding like a lunatic herself and so she had kept quiet.
Note: Step 1

Now the second one had come, bearing graver news of this foreign war. The Dragonfleet. She had a name this time. A familiar one. Were they not a mighty army of some Western Empire? Far out on the shores of the Dawn Sea. Yes, she'd heard of them during her travels with Master Weaves Fine As Silk.

Why would some foreign emperor deign to send messengers so far to request for aid? Even to tell of their defeat? The questions had caught her father off-guard. But he had remained adamant, rooted in his distrust of the outsiders.

Heed not their lies and selfish demands, daughter... Westlanders only know to war amongst their kin... the envoy will be sent on his way, as soon as he recovers from his wounds. The echoes of her father's words drifted through her mind. This was surely different. She would swear on Hinokah of the Glorious Light, but even then she knew it would do nothing. Her fists clenched in her lap. If her father would send no-one, she would go on her own... except... she could not abandon her people. Not when the black blooms of the Harghaasts drifted on the winds.

A bad omen as any. Her people looked to the foothills, fearing a large troll uprising like that of five decades ago.

Nuelehtil felt they were all looking in the wrong direction.

유 FLEE 유
Prologue Pt. 2 - Nuelehtil Arc
​

"A WAVEEE!! A red wave.... .. . OHHH! THE HORROR!!! THE DEATHSSS--!" A cold grasp of ice clenched its frosty tendrils along her spine at the sudden burst of harrowed wails. The Great Tent erupted in a cacophony of confused exclamations, pierced intermittently by the rise and fall of Always Farseeing's anguished cries.

"ELDER! Somebody, help!" Shouts rang out in disarray.

"Get the Chieftain!!"

Elear... a vision! Nuelehtil could only watch transfixed from where she sat with the rest of the Candlemaidens, their evening routine preparations interrupted by the sudden outburst. Several men were trying to restrain the elderly Starsage, desperately hoping that he would not hurt himself from the twisted contortions and overbent bones that wrecked his frail body. Nuelehtil thought he appeared as one who was having their skin flayed off. Even just watching the agony evident on his worn face was palpable. She knew what the elder saw with his sightless eyes. She'd seen it almost every night since that day.

By the time Wise As An Owl entered the Great Tent, the worse had passed and the Starsage had calmed down. The elder opened his weary eyes as the Chieftain approached. Always Farseeing did not need to say anything, he knew. At that very moment, Nuelehtil thought her father looked like a defeated man, worn and tired. At last he spoke, voice somehow still loud and clear though it was raspy, tinged with something Nuelehtil had never heard from her father all her life.

"We have-- another visitor..." His blue eyes stared across the room, boring into her own. Resigned.
Note: Step 3

It was too late.

유 유 유​

The crackle of wood in the roaring hearthfire was all the sound that accompanied the elders of the clan, silent in their vigil. Seated across from him, Nuelehtil tried to catch her father's gaze. But it seemed as if he was purposefully avoiding her eyes. Nuelehtil bit her lip. The emptiness upon his face wrenched at her soul. In his heart, she knew he blamed himself. Drifts As The Wind looked from one elder to the other. Great men and women of the Aoi. Yet they were all.... .. .

she could bear it no longer!

"Father! What must we do?" She'd spoken out of turn, standing up all of a sudden to garner attention. And yet... yet, it broke the spell. The resoluteness in her voice must have stirred the disquiet of their thoughts. Wise As An Owl stared at her, mouth agape. Then something seemed to click, and the colour returned to his blue eyes. He smiled at her, a brilliant one as any. She heard the unsaid.

I am sorry, my daughter... and, thank you.

She nodded in his direction, a barely suppressed grin quivering on her lips. They were on the same page now. They would figure this out--

It is too late. . . !

It came like an angry whisper, susurrating its sibilant vocals through her mind. The voice was young like that of a child, yet tinged with umbral darkness and sinister tidings. Her momentary elation abruptly robbed, Nuelehtil snapped her head around, gaze roving over the darkened alcoves and flickering shadows cast by the heartfire. Searching for the source of the voice. Yet, there was nothing. No one. Except for Kalla, resting carefully on a rack where she'd deposited her.

"Tilly?" The sound of her nickname startled her before she realized it was merely Lavellan, seated off to her side. His dark eyes were questioning, concern evident on his frown. He must've caught her perplexed look.

Nuelehtil shook her head, indicating that it was nothing, and turned her attention back to the meeting.

"--has been foretold, by Many Seeing Eyes before her Final Walk." Her father, Wise As An Owl was addressing the elders and those gathered. "Elder Always Farseeing believes... from what has just been revealed to him... the prophecy she spoke of, it has now come to pass..." There was a universal gasp from the gathered. Discordant alarmed whispers now punctuated the once silent gathering. Wise As An Owl held up his hand for silence.

"These are indeed grim times... the prophecy, and in Elder Always Farseeing's vision... there was so much death-- and ruination." Wise As An Owl kept his hand up before another round of exclamations could be made known. "But as always... there is hope for the future of our people... Lord Hinokah as He dwells in the Eastern stars will surely be our Savior if we beseech Him to spare our people from this Great Catastrophe!"

Nuelehtil felt a leaden weight at the base of her stomach. It was as she feared. While she did not deny that the supernatural had certain merits, superstitions and mystics could only get one so far. Prayers and incense to Lord Hinokah did nothing to stop the savage trolls. Mastery and skill did. The spilled blood of the fallen, the sweat on her brow as she faced towering brutes of death... those are what kept them safe.

"We will send one Chosen..."

No... She knew it was coming. But held on to a false hope against the inevitable.

"She will follow the guiding light of the Eastern Star... as it leads her to our Salvation..." This was absurd! Nuelehtil shook her head in disbelief. Her father caught her gaze, and she mouthed her denial. But he looked away.

"Daughter..." She froze, eyes wide like a mountain gazelle caught in the blinding blaze of torches.

"Stand..." She stood, her limbs moving of their own accord. Her mind numb.

Don't...-

"The Starsage has decided... Drifts As The Wind, you will be anointed for this task... But you will not go alone..." Pellucid drops began to pool in her eyes, but she resisted the urge to blink, otherwise the dams would be broken. All the while her head shook in silent denial.

Don't send me away...

"Ablaze In His Heart."

"Chieftain?"

"I entrust unto you, the safety of my daughter. See her to her journey's end...-"

She could no longer hear. A roaring din had begun to fill her ears, and she heard nothing but a terrible rush of wind and the thumping of her heart.

"S-Stay...! LET ME STAY F-FATHER!" She nearly screeched in her effort to give voice to her desperate heart. "There is much to be d-done-- right!?" W-We must find the other c-clans... warn them...-"

"Yes daughter... that we must do... and make preparations to move--"

"T-Then let me help-!!"

"No, Nuelehtil... Your place, is not with us." She knew he meant that her 'work' was not with them. But the duality of what he'd just uttered was not lost on the candlemaiden. She could see the anguish in his eyes.

"I-I will n-not go..." Her voice was small. Frightened.

유 유 유​

Then you are exiled.

She sat up abruptly from the tangles of her bedrolls. Her breath rasped harshly in her throat as she rubbed at the sore temples of her head. She took a deep breath to calm herself, her thoughts were still ringing with the echoes of her father's final words. She looked to the still darkened sky, lightened by the hint of dawn on the western horizon just enough that she could see the silhouettes of distant mounts towards the far east, and the Eastern Star above it.

"Can't sleep?" Lavellan's voice interrupted her melancholy. She hated this version of herself. She wasn't usually all somber and lachrymose.

"No."

"Hmm... we could switch shifts if you want..-"

"That was the second time..."

"You sure-? I mean.. what-?

"Do you think that... perhaps...- perhaps we're all headed in the same direction?" She turned to look at her companion, studying his features in the darkness. Lavellan returned her gaze sidelong, before comprehension dawned upon him.

"Oh.... .. . You mean those folk we passed two nights ago?"
Note: Step 4

"Yes, and the dying one last week... they speak of these... Exalos... and the Promise Gate... could it be-?" Her voice trailed off.

"I think the only thing for certain is that the whole World is in turmoil..." He remarked, but of course, Nuelehtil wasn't listening.

"Promise Gate..." The woman muttered. Then she stood up and pointed towards a particular mountain barely visible on the horizon, squinting to see in the low light. She angled her hand upwards and found herself pointing towards the Eastern Star. A frown marred her otherwise smooth forehead.

"I mean, surely it is a coincidence?" Lavellan was yabbering on.

"Lavellan..."

"Think about it, even if its not... Danger west, head east. Logical... isn't it-?"

"Lavellan!"

"What!?" Ablaze In His Heart turned irritably to chastise the woman for shouting his name only to nearly smash their noses together. The petite Nuelehtil had crouched over with an almost euphoric glint in her eyes and was looking at him intensely. He placed his hands on her shoulders to gently push her away.

"Whoa... too close..." She didn't care.

"Lavellan... I know where we must go!"