Character Profile and Analysis: Lorien D.N. Reverie

Name: Lorien D(issaith).N(ekhaam). Reverie 

Lucid (L): Prologue - Bad Start

The fireflies flittered about in the night, flickering lights that rode the thermal winds she could not feel.

A dream then. One that hadn't surfaced in quite some Time.

She follows them through the pathless forest, feet bare and wearing a simple white dress, ribbon sash trailing behind her. Raising her hands to greet them, she pauses at her name.

"Lori." She returns, a smile on her lips as she bounds over.

"Lorien." he corrects gently, and the smile grows wider with fond exasperation, "Welcome back To Swapnil, Seren."

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Augmentation

Zeal stood, shushing Vye when the Bræmbel Shol made to inquire.

The two Shols exchanged a look of puzzlement.

"That noise." Zeal trailed off, grimacing.

But the Shols shared another bemused look and shook their heads in unison. Vye shrugged up at his companion, "I don't hear anything Zeal."

"Nor do I." the Dark Shol piped in, "Naught of immediate significance anyhow." A pause. "What is it that you hear?"

To this the Seeker was at a loss for words, the uncertainty a very odd look for the aloof man.

Shols by their own were highly developed in their six senses, yet Lockes's hearing was sharper than the average Shol. Odd then that neither of them had picked up on whatever alerted the Seeker.

And how to describe it such that the Shols could understand? Such a fickle thing it was. Achingly nostalgic, almost painfully so, yet just the same such a melody was unlike anything he had heard before, of this Zeal was certain.

How familiar it was, and as such struck a chord, although he couldn't place it and was sure he had never before heard it.

Somehow it almost seemed to tingle across his skin light as a butterfly's kiss, and in the same breath resonated deep within him. 

Almost as if it wasn't something to hear. Yet he knew it was there. Like a vibration. A sound. A mournful cry, wistful and yearning.

At first he had thought it white noise, like that of silence grown overlong, but nay.

A sound not to be heard, but felt, he realized. Soft were its whispers, the baleful wail, that though seemed ever in mourning, yet exuded a fragile and tender warmth. One of comforting presence and which spoke of love unconditional.

Such love that it was nigh unbearable, painful to receive for so boundless was it that there was no returning such an unsolicited and so freely given gift, he found himself but undeserving.

Such set him with a flutter of his Heart that he could not shake off. One that set him aloft, yet ached terribly, burdened him so, and lulled him into a false sense of comfort.

"It's soft. A sound I hear not in my ears, but within mine mind. Arcanic influence perhaps?"

Lockes stiffened, and clipped out tersely, "The Plague Doctors... ?" Tentatively they reached through the aether, consciousness dispersing into the aetherical flow of the land and senses straining to feel for any anomalies.

The Northern Bluepine had seen the demented mind games played by the dark ministry of the Sanctum. Those beloved puppets so coveted by their equally deranged masters.

But the mercenary shook his head, "Nay. We would be able to feel the aetheric shift if so."

While true, Lockes would not allow themselves to be comforted just yet.

It was complacency that had cost them their Circle, and they would not be so quick to again trust what should have been a fail safe. That and the Plague Doctors were the subtle sort. Though their aetherical signatures were warped by those odd devices they wore, something that wouldn't have escaped notice for those sensitive to the flow, somehow Lockes doubted that some twisted form of concealment technology to be beyond their reach.

Still more puzzling was how familiar Zeal's description seemed to be, yet-- 

And then the dark Shol balked as it dawned on them. Vye tilted his head, curious to hear whatever revelation the they seemed to have come to.

"Zeal."

It couldn't be, and yet here they were.

The Seeker looked up at his name with mounting confusion. Such hesitation was strange to see on one who typically held themselves with strength and grace. Swallowing thickly, Lockes carried on, tone contemplative and just as perplexed as the Seeker felt, "Zeal, what you just described..."

And yet it was spoken in full confidence, leaving no room for skepticism, "... is the Heart's Song."

And it was no feeble resonant either. Lockes allowed their mind to drift, to see through the eyes of the Reaper.

And suddenly the world was filled with color, with Life, once more. Life that they could feel, could breath, and the nostalgia of what they were once a part of was shattering.

The discomfort was nigh tangible as he eyed the Alpione Shol, downturned and embittered. If this was a jest, it was in poor taste. But upon raising their face, the Bluepine met his gaze unflinchingly, steady and unyielding.

"That's not possible." Zeal spoke at last, as his companions both seemed reluctant to break the silence nor provide any explanation forthwith. Not that he would've expected one from Vye, there was far too much he didn't know, be it of the Reapers or his kindred.

Moreover, he cast a furtive glance in the young Shol's direction, things Vye didn't need to be privy to.

"Aye, I'd not believe it were it not so. How a Reaper could possibly be able to synchronize with the Heart's Song." they winced and turned away, "It is the cry of the Soul, of Life itself. That one whose nature is so drenched with blood, and whom consumes it to resonate so strongly."

Fronds flicked with the same dissonance that plagued the Bluepine, biting back the envy. They had forsaken the Verdance. It was by their own hand, their own choice, that they had severed themselves and tapped into the essence of Life itself.

But for the Reaper to touch the Life they could no longer even feel.

It was like a slap to the face.

Why couldn't they touch the Verdance?

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Betwixt Two Seas

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Betwixt Two Seas Zeal grunted as he reclined against the smooth damp stone on the beach, flecks of spume spraying over him despite having dragged himself far from the water's edge. Even one such as he would be fatigued by the series of back to back, consecutive dives.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (2 of ?)

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

---

Elsewhere, Zeal hooked an arm through the reins, pulling a simple wooden sleigh along. 

It had taken quite a bit of traveling to get all the preparations done, but they were complete at last.

Well. Almost.

On occasion, Zeal would spot things on the way back and barter. Highly unusual as the Seeker was not known to be such a spendthrift. The man kept a iron grip to his satchel, and if anything was rather stingy in even the most common of indulgences, which of course made this whole fiasco all the more entertaining for the Bluepine.

Lockes chuckled when Zeal stopped in his tracks, staring at a vendor's wares before abruptly trudging off, making a beeline for the stall. It was a simple task, following the Reaper through the crowd with their eyes. He was a head taller than a majority of the townspeople.

They watched the brief exchange as the Seeker pointed out some goods and the vendor wrung him up.

And once again Lockes tossed a knowing look his way, grinning wide as they did so.

"... It's Sea Hazel. Vye loves them." Came the gruff rumble of the Seeker's voice, by way of explanation.

"As is the veritable mountain of goods we now have to lug back?" They gestured to the makeshift sleigh the Bluepine had warped to carry the load, "One would think us merchants, or Gelid's Saints."

"... Aye." Zeal grabbed the reigns and trudged off, pulling the sleigh, packages and all, behind him with little effort, if at all, "You needn't trouble yourself. I've not asked for your assistance."

Too much was it to be carried back in their packs, and even with the numerous fronds at the Northern Blue's disposal it was a questionable venture.

yet even then the stubborn man refused the notion of borrowing any beasts of burden

"I've no need for that which I can do myself." 

He'd stated when Lockes insisted that they alleviate the burden whilst on the road.

Lockes was practically glowing with mirth, and though he'd not acknowledge it, the Reaper was tinged far too red for it to merely be the cold alone.

They fell into pace as they left the settlement, following the road back to the inn where Vye was doubtlessly waiting up. 

The silence was comfortable and there was a good sense of camaraderie between the two of them. Which was why it came as such a surprised when it was Zeal who broke silence.

The Reaper grumbled, almost hesitant, "Vye's... a child, isn't he."

A statement, Lockes duly noted. Completely rhetorical, for they both knew. A mere ruse to start a conversation. The severed Shol hummed, a jovial note that carried into the melodic lilt of their voice, "A coty, yes. A juvenile quick approaching adolescence."

"If possible, it'd be nice for him to experience the festivities, as a child."

"I'm sure he has with his Circle." Lockes spoke, a serene and fond smile settled on their face, their eyes seeing not the present, but Times past, " Especially being of the lowlands, the wintry winds brought much more drastic change. It is of great importance to those who hale from the moors."

But Zeal rumbled on, pulling them from their thoughts, "I'm aware of the significance of Sholian festivals celebrating Gelid's passing. But I speak of the present. Just for a moment, I would have him go without worrying about all of... this." 

They had long since left the town gates and evening had fallen upon them, the city behind them mere speckles of light flickering in the encroaching dark.

Too dark to see the smile on the Bluepine's features, "I'm certain with you, he's felt more peace than he ever hoped this world could give." 

Such compliment helped to assuage the Seeker's worries, and in their place, set a warmth in his chest. 

At least, until the severed Shol spoke again, "But you know, more than any of this, I think Vye would be happiest with being close to the ones he holds dear. After all, isn't that the most important allegory of Gelid's Passing? One of few similarities between our kind, a tradition of togetherness with which both Solaris's brood and the Verdance honor."

"Aye." The Reaper seemed to be contemplating this. Not that he doubted it any, but rather it gave him much to think. Shols formed Fairy Rings, Circles of strong lasting bonds. In choosing one or the other, sustenance and shelter they would readily relinquish if it meant being with their Circle. For them, the desire for kinship oft came above all else. 

And Vye, bereft of his beloved Bræmbel kin, sought out Zeal. Perhaps not intentionally so, but nonetheless the vale Shol oft turned to the Reaper, seeking the comforts of the companionship of past.

Vye would be pleased with their presence alone. But Zeal wanted to give him more.

Lockes listened to his ramblings in silence, before shrugging. How often those of Solaris's brood looked elsewhere for answers. Complex creatures they were. "... 'ware that you may be denying that which he desires most."

Zeal grimaced and made to speak, but stopped.

"... Lets hurry back."

Lockes smiled and nodded.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) Gelid's Passing (1 of ?)

Vye stared at the evergreen that Zeal had convinced him to grow. This particular variety, though exuding a pleasing fragrance, served more ornamental purposes than anything else, and it seemed odd then that the Seeker had been so insistent that his companion nurture one while they were away.

That alone wasn't what bothered him though.

As of late, they wouldn't tell Vye a thing. Yes, they. Both of them were in on this little secret.

There was a lot about this world he didn't understand, and certainly he would not deny them their fun out of some fit of jealous rage. The two were getting along splendidly, considering their history, and he was elated for it. And so the Bræmbel Shol had shrugged it off. 

But that was more than a week ago. 

And before they so abruptly left him by his lonesome.

"We'll be back soon."

But how soon was soon? 

For the entirety of the past week Lockes had been giggling to themselves, muttering a low "oh my" on occasion in an almost teasing fashion, shaking their head, and tutting at Zeal. Yet despite this seemingly disapproving tone, the Blupine was always bright eyed, a secretive smile never far from their lips as they watched the Seeker with rapt attention. Zeal himself seemed rather abashed by all of this even as he busied himself with various odd tasks and divulging little with Vye. 

This in itself wasn't unusual, Zeal wasn't much of a talker and oft informed the young Shol as circumstances arose, or when questioned. But what exactly was this? What was going on? Zeal rarely got worked up for anything. And even after asking, the man brushed him off! Worse still, Zeal would outright ignore him and pretend not to hear, dodging around his questions, or to suddenly be busy with something or another. If anything the more he prodded at the Seeker, the more the other avoided him. 

The Seeker wouldn't even listen when Vye went over the route he had planned and their next destination! Even Lockes had only been half listening, distracted as they were with--with whatever this is.

Vye huffed, folding his arms under his as he leaned on the window sill, giving the snow blanketed city below a sour look without really seeing anything. He glowered at everything, and nothing. 

That's just mean. Zeal was being mean. And Lockes was just plain unhelpful.

It left Vye feeling rather put out by the whole thing.

There was something the two were in on, something that he wasn't only not a part of, but altogether intentionally and purposefully excluded from.

"All in good Time! You'll see!" Lockes had waved him off, with a chuckle, refusing to divulge more before pulling their hood lower and ducking out of the inn room with Zeal close behind. They turned around to encircle Vye in a warm hug, "We'll try not to be long but this might take a bit. Don't wait up, okay?"

Vye had given a nod, reluctant to let Lockes go from their hug. 

"We'll be back soon." they reassured him. Giving the young Coty a last ruffle of his foliage, the Alpione Shol disappeared, leaving Vye craning his neck to see the two of them even as the door fell shut with a sharp click, the bolt slid in place. 

That was 3 nights ago.

Zeal hadn't even spared him a second glance, in far too much of a rush for whatever it was that occupied his two comrades so.

He leapt off the sill, clambering onto the table and coiling up in the center of the nostalgic belongings strewn across its surface.

Insides jokes were fine and all, but it had been nigh constant, yet despite being so blatantly obvious, the two were so hush-hush about the whole ordeal, going mum whenever Vye pointed out their odd behavior. Or in Lockes's case, amused snickering and secretive, knowing, glances.

The Bræmbel Shol stared at a small but hefty pouch containing several precious metal coinage and a handful of metal chips of lower denomination. Zeal had left it there should he need anything from the inn while the two were out.

It was immature, perhaps, and downright petty, but he swiped at the coin purse anyway, knocking the bag to the floor and glaring as it landed with a merry jingle. 

He grumped to himself, hissing and fluffing up, plumes ruffled as he knocked a couple of other knickknacks off the table. A couple of Zeal's freshly folded articles, a water skin, a strange wooden charm Lockes told him to keep close by, a couple of rolls of paper, ribbon, and sticky strips that the Seeker had bought and hauled in the morning of their departure.

Okay, so maybe it was more than just a couple of knickknacks.

Spent, the Bræmbel Shol coiled the sheets and curled in the center of his makeshift nest.

Frankly though, it wasn't altogether unexpected.

Realistically, keeping him alive was of far greater priority. And in their travels, he posed a great liability, one that would be better left behind in safety.

He was just a Coty and likely the sole Shol still fully intact. If anything it was folly for him to travel with them, every moment out there was putting the future of the Verdance on the line. Furthermore, what reason could there be to call for his presence, when Lockes could do so much better, and then some. 

Even severed as they were from the Verdance, the dark Shol and former Pillar of the Alpione Ring was far more capable in their communion. Even fallen, they were able to raise the Prismatic Arc, they had more than earned their place as a child of the Verdance. 

A capable and reliable individual, the extent of whose abilities were never truly realized.

If anyone could reach the Briar Patch, it would be them.

What need did either of them have of some helpless whelp, still quite literally, green around the ears? A Coty who, with the exception of his tentative similarities to that of the Yggdrasill, was without even the most basic of the Verdance's gift, who had to not only receive a graft, but have yet to truly harness the Verdance and grow into his abilities?

And he knew, with Lockes's guidance, it was the wiser, smarter decision for him to remain. To stay behind where he could be kept safe. He was an asset, one that would serve better use and less hindrance away from perils.

But surely--surely they wouldn't play such a cruel joke as to leave him alone, and in the coldest Time of the Orbital cycle no less. 

Vye shook his head. He was being silly.

Outside, the snow kept coming, drifting flakes of snow that blanketed the world in white.

... Were they safe and warm? He hoped so.

Snippets and Stories: (BP) The Elixir of Life

They were passing through a village. One that like many in the quaint countryside had once seen better days.

When the rot was still amongst them, many fled beyond the stone walls of the 16 Sanctums to these quaint towns.

And for some Time it did seem that the wilderness and fresh country air healed.

Until the rot was passed to them as well.

Village populations were decimated, entire towns lost and the once cobbled roads since fallen to ruin.

The dilapidated ruins they had thought abandoned.

Until they chanced upon a scant few left. Scarred by the rot, for it passed through the flesh, and though the few remaining denizens survived, they decayed.

Sour pus oozed from open sores. Some had lost their eyes, and all that remained were festering sockets with their hollowed, empty stare.

They had stopped for a rest. The town wared them at first, but when Zeal dealt with them as they would any other, they welcomed the travelers tentatively.

Merchants were scarce and they were in desperate need of materials.

Materials that they carried.

It was part of their guise, after all. Sometimes they entertained, other Times like now, commerce was their trade. Either way, it was an easier and less suspicious means of blending in with denizens of any kind despite how utterly foreign they were, and a means of paying for expenses. 

Thieves and their ilk were little concern. Zeal dispatched of them easily enough, and the presence of a Seeker and acting mercenary in their midst all the more believable. It played well into both, giving credibility to their front.

Especially for those who have supped deep upon the meager scraps of desperation and drunk deep of the same chalice.

Traveling merchants were scarce in these parts. Oft avoiding places of heavy infestation, and shying away from those who suffered still. Those that did brave such ravaged lands were disdainful, treating the inhabitants as lesser being.

It was scarce. Scarce, but not unheard of.

And for their tiny caravan, they would be the latter.

A clever ploy, and they had the young Bræmbel Shol to thank for it.

"Clever little Coty." Lockes had murmured as Vye explained his plan. Perhaps this was why Furzé chose the young Shol to succeed them.

It was simple and resourceful, an easily sustainable means of keeping their image. Merchants were free to travel without rousing much suspicion. It was, after all, their trade.

And so they traded.

And Zeal, ever the vigilant guard, ensured no goods were passed without the proper coinage or equivalent.

But such dedication needn't be so.

Though the concept of currency seemed foolish and foreign to Vye, he was not a fool himself.

Currency is the lifeblood of the sanctums. Worth in something that in itself is worthless. A notion that oft puzzled Vye.

The moorland Shol was quite shrewd and knew how to drive a bargain. Months of watching Zeal's exchanges and observing the din of marketplace bartering had been enough for him to pick up on it, and what he didn't yet know, he learned.

And he didn't just do it as well as the usual vendors.

He did it better.

Vye drove a hard bargain, easing up when the crowd found him without purchase, and unyielding when hands were played, as any mechant worth half their salt knew to be. But he played like a veteran. His youthful appearance he played to his trade, feigning ignorance.

Many had more to offer, but only fools played their trumps in the first hand.

And so it went on, the back and forth draws as he lured them in and feigned interest back. Just a little, but not too much.

A difficult feat, especially where the claws of sickness gouged deep, leaving gaping wounds that bled still.

But they were merchants. And so Vye wheedled them out of coin like a goldlusting miser or overzealous dragon, then feigned astonishment as some "antique" or useless garbage caught his attention. Thinking they'd found a chink in his armor, a lucky break, they took bit the tossed bait. It was odd then for Vye, having shown interest and feigning a lack of, to subtly offer a pretty penny for the junk item. And the crowd never noticed it was just enough, for them to have made back the excess profit they would have given to the travellers.

When Zeal asked why Vye went through such a hassle for the ruse, the answer was simple.

"It's more believable. And--" Vye peered at the slowly gathering crowd, "--no one wants to be a charity case. Like this they can keep their pride, and feel no remorse in our exchange. To them I'll be the money loving merchant with some eccentric and questionable tastes, and they'll be the poor that I sup upon but whom catch a lucky break to get even. A perfect storytale classic, wouldn't you say?"

And so they bartered, and bartered, and bartered.

Lockes managed inventory as Vye took center stage, with Zeal as his burly guard.

At intervals the Bluepine would slip out for a status report, and information exchange, or to appraise. 

Here, their extensive database proved most beneficial.

All in all, it left everyone content.

Zeal didn't have to interact with anyone, Vye handled sales and got to observe the world, Lockes got to stay far away from the world they had decidedly had their fill of, an aversion neither of the other two would so much as think to fault the Bluepine for it.

Everything was going well, until one denizen came closer to the stall. He had nothing to exchange, but the threads on his back, and being a cold Spring day that it was, he could but stared longingly from a distance at the Apples Vye had grown just a week ago. Fresh, plump, and juicy.

And hard to come by in these parts. The soil was jnsuitabke for their cultivation.

At first Vye ignored him, though both the Shol and his guard had their peripheral alert for any sticky fingers. It wouldn't be the first nor last attempt, and especially being of the Verdance, nothing taken would escape Vye. He could sense the Life in each apple.

So during intermission, the Shol made his way over, and to the man's surprise, took his seat beside him.

"Share with me your story, stranger. I've a penchant for tales."

And so the man talked, and Vye listened.

And at the end of it, offered up cloth bindle for the man to fill with the stock he pleased, so thoroughly had he enjoyed the tale. An exchange both found satisfying.

"You're going to lose us coin." Zeal grimaced.

"On the contrary, I'm making us more." Vye smiled up at him, "This town is very close knit and love one another dearly or so I've gathered. They'll not forego necessities for pride so I'll not likely offend and, I've shown them that I'm not all fire and brimstone with this generosity. See, I'm just doing m' trade."

And here Vye nodded to the town, "I've made myself more loveable. They will welcome me now, I am closer to them and they will more readily trade with me, and offer up more as well."

And they did.

Some did try to exchange a tale as the man before, and the Shol would contemplate then agree though only if the amount was under his discretion. Each story being a different tale after all, and he was picky with his cup of tea, or so he told. Still he appreciated the sincerity and would offer up what he could.

Such traits made him more genuine, and lovable.

And by the end of the night they were offered a seat around the bonfire.

"... T'wont be comfy as a bundle but I warrant it twice 's warm an' no wolves t' deal with." An elderly man smiled down at Vye, and Vye nodded his agreement and happy with such hospitality.

It was with warmth that they met the few remaining survivors of the MireBrook Boughs.

A bandage on the man's arm had come loose, and Vye reached out to fix it.

This the elderly man observed and smiled,"You've a soul born kind. May the North Star ever light your path." He sighed, "Many are repulsed by our rotten flesh, and the Death that clings to us in stench and flesh."

"... Perhaps what you need is Spring."

"Come again, young 'un?"

Not again.

Zeal made to stop him with a hand on his shoulder but Vye slowly reached up and grasped it. Squeezing it once softly, he removed it and smiled up at Zeal.

But his eyes sent a very different message in their glower.

Don't interrupt me.

"Legends speak that water from a well drawn from a pure fount will cleanse the sickness."

"... Is that so? I've ne'er heard such a tale before." the elder spoke with great hesitation. Many a tale they have believed in desperation, only for hope to only ever be a merry chase. He dared not do so again.

"Aye. But it must be drawn from a pure source. Tainted water brings only pestilence. Know you of any?"

There was a break in the conversation. And at length, the old man nodded, "I'll take ya. Ye wont find it on 'ny maps. ...'s what keeps it pure I s'pose."

And so they excused themselves and were led out into the moorland.

"This 's it."

It was a pitiful well. Covered with a splintered wooden round, and obviously fallen into disuse, for the stonework was crumbling and altogether missing at intervals, the rope in tatters and its future potential in splinters. But Zeal pried the cover off as per Vye's silent command, and the Bræmbel Shol bade their guide leave.

The old man was wary, and rightfully so, but did as Vye bade.

Certain their guide had left, Vye removed a sizable vial from the inner pocket of his cloak, the soft brilliance of a scintillating golden light flickered within, emanating a faint warmth. Not that felt in the flesh, but in the Heart.

A soft sweet scent drifted through the clearing as Vye broke the wax seal.

Uncorking this, the scent grew stronger. Vye held it close--and then unceremoniously upturned the contents, the glittering drops of sunbeam pouring into the well. Such pretty flecks, twinkling softly like stardust in their descent, their glow lighting down the depths of the well.

They had not too far to fall, and plopped into the water below.

"That should do it."

Zeal scowled, "You can't keep doing this."

"... They shouldn't have to suffer."

This was going too far, "And neither should it be at your expense. These are the same people who would kill you, need I remind you?"

A touch on his wrist, on the bone circlets, was enough to hush him. Enough to remind him that he was once no different. 

...And no less worthy of scorn.

"Do you know why humor is hard to understand, but tragedy universal?" Vye didn't wait for a response, nor did he want one. It had been rhetorical. "Because suffering is the same, no matter who or what you are. We all know what it's like to hurt. To be hurt. And... No one deserves to suffer. Even if it's arguably karmic retribution."

Zeal grimaced, so blatantly plain was the indignant fury that brimmed, just beneath that steady calm voice. And yet here they were.

Noticing this, the Bræmbel Shol heaved a sigh, "I'm not indifferent, and I'm not pretending to be." He looked up at Zeal, "I'm angry. And this anger I acknowledge, but it's not just about what we think or feel, it's what we do. I wont act upon. Vengeance wont accomplish anything." 

Suffering, there is plenty of. Vye bit back another sigh, "Let's go, it's getting cold and I didn't get to finish the porridge they gave me."

And so they passed the night in relative comfort, and bid farewell a couple days later.

In that Time the village, as per Vye's instruction, drew the pure water from the well. Drank it, bathed in it, and already their open sores had started mending, their skin pink and raw, but unbroken. No longer did they hurt, or their rotting flesh spread. Their bodies healed quickly, with the vigor of youth. A miracle, the denizens cried, an elixir of Life itself!

And thus did the legend of the fountain of youth slowly spread.

Whispers that would eventually lead to more foot traffic to frequent this part, as it had and would for many others.

The lowland Shol smiled. Slowly but surely, they were healing. With Time, the land and Life would thrive again, and Prismatic Arc raised once more. Vye would ensure it.