Active [NanPass Village]Whispers in the Mist

[Moonberry]

Nan Pass Village
Republic of Kuridan – 3rd Month, Early Morning
Snow falls lightly, vanishing into the steaming breath of chimneys.

✧༝┉˚*❋ Whispers in the Mist ❋*˚┉༝✧​

The snow whispered against the thatched roofs of Nan Pass Village, soft and constant like a lullaby the mountain never stopped singing. Lanterns swung gently from wooden eaves, their golden glow barely reaching beyond the drifting mist. Somewhere, a bell chimed the hour—low and reverent, its tone swallowed quickly by the hush of falling snow.

Though the village was quiet, it was not at peace.

Tucked against the edge of Nan Pass, the village had always been known as a small mining outpost, a place where stone and ore were coaxed from the mountain’s bones. The mines had run for generations, cut deep into the foothills of the Paizu Mountains, and though the work was hard, the people endured—proud and resilient.

Now, the pickaxes rang less often. The forges cooled sooner. And the silence in the snow grew heavier by the day.

Beastkin villagers, cloaked in layered kimono, moved through the narrow, sloped streets with downcast eyes and quickened steps. A mother tugged her child away from the edge of the shrine path, muttering blessings to the mountain spirits. A snow harekin merchant packed his stall early. No one spoke too loudly—as though afraid something in the mist might hear them.

Outside the teahouse and message hall, a parchment fluttered softly in the breeze:

“Assistance requested.
Dangerous unrest in the upper ranges.
Aid needed to investigate the Yukijin.”
Signed: Genta Moriyama, Village Headman

Inside, the scent of roasted barley and pine ash mingled in the warm air of the teahouse. A kettle hissed softly over the hearth, its steam curling in the dim morning light. At a low wooden table near the window, Hoshime, the one-eyed foxkin elder, poured tea with deliberate care.

Across from her sat Genta Moriyama, shoulders tense beneath his winter coat, a half-finished cup cradled in his hands.

“They haven’t come,” he said, voice low, roughened by worry. “It’s been days.”

“They’ll come,” Hoshime replied, calm as ever. “They always do. Sooner or later.”

Genta shook his head, staring into the steam.
“The Yukijin are moving closer. We’ve seen them near the ridge trail. They don’t attack, but they watch. Quiet. Still. Like they’re waiting for something.”

“They’ve always watched,” Hoshime murmured, sipping her tea. “The difference is, now we’re afraid to look back.”

Genta’s brow furrowed.
“And the Belmonte homestead… torn apart. Tools shattered. Garden destroyed. No sign of animals—just cold ash and silence.”

Hoshime’s tail flicked, thoughtful.
“It wasn’t the Yukijin.”

“No. It wasn’t.” Genta leaned forward, eyes hard. “But the village thinks it was. And that boy—Kenta’s youngest—came back bloodied. Deep gashes across his side.”

“Blades,” Hoshime said quietly. “Not claws.”

He nodded.
“Too clean. Too precise.”

They sat in silence a moment, the crackle of the hearth the only sound between them.

“The Yukijin have lived in those mountains for generations,” Hoshime said at last. “They didn’t change. Something changed around them.”

Genta exhaled through his nose, the weight of responsibility bowing his shoulders.
“Then I hope whoever answers that call knows how to listen… before they draw a sword.”

Outside, the snow continued to fall.
And somewhere, beyond the curve of the pass,
the mountain waited.

 

[Mephisto]

---

Somewhere, the red dream waits in the dark.

But not here.​

---

Villages were often quaint and quiet, offering basic necessities and the means to create solutions to the rest of life's myriad problems. Food and water came by easily enough. Hospitality, medical care, music... and love. Those took time, but they were easy to find in a place such as this.

Nestled snugly into the embrace of the nearby mountain, Nan Pass Village enjoyed a rare symbiosis with nature. Its beastkin residents rested under handmade roofs, greeting the day with honest labor and the joy of being alive.

The slight underhue of melancholy stained their faces, however. Precious blue and pink saturation amidst the deep white could only hide the misery for so long. It was here that Mephisto interjected himself. A stark contrast with his red and black palette, he valued neither the word or even the existence of any adventurer's guild that would have otherwise sent him so far this direction.

Instead, he merely followed his nose and the inclination to learn.

He walked through the brass gate to the main street and instinctively began to peruse the street food vendors, investigating local kitchens and absorbing their expertise by watching, engaging in humble conversation, and wishing those chefs and their customers good luck.

He didn't need much. Eventually, the very notion of the village being in danger at all caught his attention. He would tilt his head along its central axis, thumbing his way across the face of bulletin boards posted along the entrance to inns and restaurants he found himself passing along the way to nowhere in particular.

It was a generalized plea for help, summarizing what the fae thing could only assume was months - perhaps more - of internalized suffering.

He gently unpinned one of the fliers and folded it neatly into his coat pocket, adjusting the finer parts of his pinstripe suit as he whisked his hand through the air.

A thin line of strange shadows extended from his fingertips, ending in a subtle glow. He inhaled from the cigarette that both existed and could fade into nothingness all at once. It was a simple gesture of his [Darkness Magic], a false thing that nevertheless filled his lungs with a calming warmth on a cold morning such as this.

He followed the path leading up to the teahouse of the person responsible for sending out the message in the first place.

"Genta Moriyama," Mephisto hummed, clicking his fingers to send the cigarette away.

As he passed a small clearing, he stopped.

He turned without saying a word.

It was a shrine to a goddess he didn't recognize. She had her eyes closed, her snout turned down in silent meditation. Her many tails folded behind her. An inscription he could not read was etched into the pedestal supporting the statue.

He approached it but did not pray.

He said nothing and merely began scratching away at the morning moss that clung to the finer details. He turned and left without offering anything.

Before long, he finally stood under the canopy of the teahouse. He opened the door, lowering his head as he entered, and unfolded the notice for help as he smiled towards the staff member up front.

"I'm here about the job. My name is Mephisto,"

 

[Rev IX]

V-CXI
​

Having finished his self-imposed business in Rotia, V decided to hit the road again. The Talbotean made his way east. He traveled, and traveled, Eventually, he found himself in Kuridan. Where he noticed a sign posted by the local adventurer's guild. Currently, he wanted to continue polishing his fighting prowess. The knowledge had come back, but the 'muscle' memory continued dormant. So he was avoiding even moderately risky jobs, at least until he could hold his own.

But something of the sign caught his attention.

"Belmonte..."

If memory banks served right, that was the name Griffin and the others tried on Hikari. A coincidence? Mysterious circumstances? It was odd enough to stand out to him. Maybe it was time to take a risk. Standing and walking around certainly wouldn't do much for him, after all.

Having arrived at the place the note detailed, it didn't take long for him to notice the underlying misery, or maybe resignation? Fear? Nevertheless, the populace was clearly struggling. The circumstances detailed in the notice he picked up being the culprit. Unable to take a sharp breath of the fresh, cold air to sharpen his focus. He quietly headed for the local teahouse, having asked here and there where to find Genta.

An odd looking fellow was making his way in around the same time as V. He stood out like a sore thumb. Clearly as big of an outsider as himself. Likely here for the same reason as him, possibly barring the curiosity for the Belmonte name from their similar goals. He announced his presence to the first person they saw in the building. "So ⠁⠍ I", the rook spoke, stealing a discreet glance at the paper this Mephisto person held. Very much like the one he held.