Vert d'Haricoville-Curassair Biography (literature)

Vert Curassier	 is a Dryad who previously suffered from the rare disease, Decay which caused him to lose his memories. This memory loss reached a point where he left his old dryad tribes and wandered until he came upon the gates of a young yet Developed Esaqu where the emperor of the time, Henri Curassier or the descendant of Augustus Vespian Curassier, "Henri Curassier" greeted him and welcomed him into Yvres with open arms. Following this he would go on to live in Esaqu and it's nation of Yvres before eventually marrying into the Cuirassier family and becoming the emperor of Yvres.
===Early life===
In the heart of the Tundras and Ice Spikes, where the everlasting winters held sway, there lived a being like no other. Vert, descended from a rare mix of Shylie and Meyderlie, bore a body that defied the norms of their his species. His skin, once a blend of lush green and stone, was a testament to his unique heritage.
As a child, Vert's existence puzzled his elders. He could take on a humanoid form, a trait more common among Meyderlie, but the subtle decay in his stone-like flesh hinted at an inevitable return to his plant form. While he struggled to find his place in the colony of Meyderlie, who thrived in large, interconnected groups, Vert felt a longing for the solitude and underground life of the Shylie.
One fateful day, when the winter winds howled and the frost crept deeper into the Tundras, Vert made a choice that would shape his destiny. He left the Meyderlie colony behind and ventured into the caverns where the Shylie dwelled. It was there, amidst the rocky walls and the soft shine of the glow berries, that Vert found a sense of belonging.
Among the Shylie, Vert learned the art of camouflage, blending seamlessly with the cave walls. He discovered the secrets of tapping into the earth's nutrients through his roots, thriving in isolation. With time, he grew both physically and spiritually, forming a deep bond with the Shylie who had accepted him as one of their own.
As Vert delved deeper into the life of the Shylie, he found himself truly at home among these reclusive beings. The camaraderie he developed with the Shylie was unlike anything he had ever experienced. They shared their wisdom about the underground world, teaching him how to harness the subtle energy of the glow berries to sustain himself when nutrients from the soil were scarce.But as Vert embraced his new life among the Shylie, the decay that had lingered in his stone-like flesh began to advance. His skin, once a vibrant blend of green and stone, turned pale and brittle before the moss that covered his face reverted to a mud-like form. The slow but steady decline of his body worried his newfound friends. They rallied together, pooling their knowledge of ancient herbal remedies and the healing properties of the cavern's unique flora to try and halt the decay's progress.
Despite their efforts, Vert's memory began to deteriorate. It was as if the very essence of his being was being consumed by the disease. He struggled to recall his life among the Meyderlie and the colony he had left behind. The moments of his childhood, filled with questions about his unique heritage, became fragments in a fading memory.
Still, Vert remained resolute. He knew that the Shylie had given him a sense of belonging he had never known before. In their underground sanctuary, he was not defined by his mixed heritage or the encroaching decay. He had become one with the subterranean world, a part of its ancient rhythms and mysteries.
As the seasons turned and the caverns whispered their timeless secrets, Vert's existence became a poignant symbol of resilience and adaptation. He might not have found a cure for the decay that threatened to claim him, but he had found a family among the Shylie who embraced him as one of their own, regardless of the challenges he faced. And in that acceptance, Vert discovered a profound sense of purpose and identity, even as his memories continued to fade into the depths of the earth.
However, his memories continued to fade, and he found himself remembering his previous families less and less, causing immense confusion. He often found himself wandering through the lands of Sparwood - looking for something not even there. And that was what led him eventually to the gates of Esaqu before he collapsed.
===Esaqu===
Vert's life took an unexpected turn when he was discovered at the assumed age of 20 near the entrance of Esaqu. A kind-hearted emperor welcomed him into the community, providing him with a place to live and a sense of belonging. As time passed, Vert developed a keen interest in the art of brewing alcoholic beverages and began experimenting with different drinks.
Filled with excitement, Vert hurriedly went to Henri's palace, eager to showcase the fruits of his labour. However, Henri, the emperor, noticed something peculiar about one side of Vert's face—it had an unusual, dirt-like texture. Concerned for Vert's well-being, Henri promptly sent him to the Medbay for examination.
To their dismay, the doctors revealed that Vert was afflicted with an exceedingly rare and seemingly incurable condition. This affliction caused his body to gradually transform into dirt. Overwhelmed by despair, Vert hastily made his way to the royal bridge with the intention of ending his suffering through drastic measures.
Fortunately, Henri intervened just in time. The compassionate emperor managed to persuade Vert to confront his condition and endure the accompanying pain. As a gesture of support, Henri offered Vert a position in the army, providing him with a sense of purpose and distraction from his affliction.
As Vert's thoughts swirled one cool winter morning, he realized with a start that he didn’t actually know how he got to the gates of Esaqu, so he went on a reflective walk through the towering forests of east Sparwood, the ancient giants loomed above him, and as he stared idly at a lake - watching the fish dart around the cool icy lake, he thought that he should consult Henri about his past, for so far in this world he seemed to have very few true friends.
Vert entered the palace, greeting Henri on his way in. After a little chatting, he brought up the main topic of his visit. Henri heard out Vert and notified him that he was unfortunately unaware of how Vert reached the gates of Esaqu. He did, however, recommend that Vert should give it some time and not worry about it too much. Vert left soon after this, both disappointed yet grateful for the Emperor's advice. He supposed it was possible that his amnesia would subside given more time, though he couldn't help but feel a bit confused as when he arrived at Esaqu, he somehow knew how to speak and all of the basics but very little else. Perhaps if he carried out a variety of activities, one would spark his memory?
===Military career===
So to distract himself, Vert delved into his newfound position as a member of the Yvres military. After a few weeks of training, he found himself getting speedy promotions due to his natural efficiency and methodical thinking, which allowed him to plan out the best strategies to use in many situations. His speedy promotions came to a sudden halt when he reached the rank of Sous-Lieutenant. He was faced with a new challenge: the training of a new soldier.
Vert's life had taken a series of unexpected turns, from his origins as Vert, a being with a unique blend of Shylie and Meyderlie heritage, to his arrival at the gates of Esaqu and his subsequent journey as a member of the Yvres military. Despite the fading memories of his past, he had found a sense of purpose and friendship in this new chapter of his life.
As Vert settled into his role as a Sous-Lieutenant in the Yvres military, he faced a fresh challenge - the training of a new soldier. It was a responsibility that required not only his tactical prowess but also his ability to impart knowledge and skills to a novice. Vert approached this task with the same determination and diligence that had earned him rapid promotions in the first place.
He took the young recruit under his wing, teaching them the art of strategy, combat tactics, and the importance of discipline. Vert's methodical thinking and ability to plan out effective strategies proved invaluable in shaping the new soldier's abilities. They trained together in the harsh winter landscape of Sparwood, honing their skills and forging a strong bond.
As the days turned into weeks and months, Vert's focus on training began to bear fruit. The recruit showed remarkable progress, a testament to Vert's dedication as a mentor. Their skills in combat improved, and they grew more confident in their abilities. The camaraderie they developed mirrored the bonds Vert had formed with the Shylie and later with Emperor Henri.
In the midst of his training duties, Vert continued to grapple with his amnesia. The mystery of how he had arrived at the gates of Esaqu and the fading memories of his past still weighed on his mind. He followed Henri's advice, allowing time to pass and hoping that his lost memories would eventually resurface. Meanwhile, he immersed himself in the daily routines of military life, finding solace in his responsibilities and the friendships he was building.
Vert's journey from a being with a unique heritage and a fading past to a respected member of the Yvres military was a testament to his resilience and adaptability. He had faced challenges and uncertainties along the way but had always managed to find a sense of purpose and belonging in the communities he joined. As he continued to train the new soldier and navigate the complexities of his own identity, he remained hopeful that one day, the missing pieces of his past would be revealed.
After successfully training the new soldier and witnessing their growth into a skilled and confident member of the Yvres military, Vert's dedication and leadership qualities did not go unnoticed. He was promoted to the rank of Capitaine, a significant milestone in his military career. This promotion came as recognition of his exceptional strategic thinking, methodical approach to problem-solving, and his ability to inspire and lead his fellow soldiers.
As a Capitaine, Vert assumed greater responsibilities within the Yvres military. He was tasked with not only leading his own unit but also assisting in planning and executing larger-scale operations. His calm demeanor and analytical mindset made him a valuable asset in the field, where quick thinking and effective decision-making were often the keys to success.
Despite his rise in rank and responsibilities, Vert remained humble and approachable. He continued to mentor and guide new recruits, ensuring that the knowledge and skills he had acquired were passed on to the next generation of soldiers. His commitment to the well-being of his comrades and his dedication to the mission earned him the respect and admiration of those under his command.
While Vert's military career flourished, the mystery of his past still lingered in the background. His amnesia remained a perplexing enigma, and he couldn't shake the desire to uncover the missing pieces of his history. In quiet moments, he would contemplate his origins and the circumstances that had brought him to Esaqu.
Vert's life had transformed from the enigmatic being named Vert, descended from a mix of the Shylie and the Meyderlie, to Capitaine Vert, a respected leader within the Yvres military. Yet, the journey of self-discovery and the quest to reclaim his lost memories continued to be a part of his ongoing narrative, even as he excelled in his new role and found a sense of belonging within the Esaqu community.
===Relationship and marriage===
Vert's visits to the Cuirassier household became a regular occurrence as he spent time talking to Claude and getting to know the other members of the Blu-Tack Man family. Among them, Lira, with her unique appearance and captivating personality, stood out to Vert in a way he had not anticipated.
Lira, possessing a face unlike the other Blu-Tack Men, exuded a charm that drew Vert in. Her playful yet deadly nature added an intriguing layer to her character, and Vert found himself falling for her in a way that transcended his previous experiences. It was as if the mystery and allure of her presence spoke to something deep within him.
As their interactions continued, Vert and Lira's connection grew stronger. They shared stories, laughter, and moments of quiet reflection together. Vert admired Lira's strength and resilience, and he felt a sense of warmth and belonging in her presence that he had rarely experienced before.
Their relationship blossomed amidst the backdrop of Esaqu, a place that had become Vert's second home. The two of them found solace and comfort in each other's company, and Vert couldn't help but be captivated by the woman who had stolen his heart.
In the absence of Emperor Henri, Vert and Lira's bond deepened, and their love for each other continued to grow. Vert's journey, from an enigmatic being with fading memories to a respected leader in the Yvres military, had taken an unexpected turn as he found love and companionship in the most unlikely of places.
As Vert and Lira's love story unfolded, it became a testament to the enduring power of connection and the ability to find love and acceptance even in the most unconventional circumstances. Their relationship added a new chapter to Vert's life, one filled with love, hope, and the promise of a future together in the ever-evolving city of Esaqu.
Vert and Lira's love had blossomed and deepened over the course of several months, and they decided it was time to take the next step in their relationship. With hearts full of love and a strong desire to formalize their commitment to each other, they made the decision to marry in a beautiful ceremony held at the church in Esaqu.
The ceremony was conducted by Cardinal Fazen, a prominent figure within the Orthodoxy of Light Incarnate. As they stood before the altar of the holy furnace, surrounded by friends and well-wishers from the Esaqu and Grand-Castell Lozhar communities alike, Vert and Lira exchanged vows that reflected their deep love and devotion to each other. The church was filled with an atmosphere of joy and celebration as the couple exchanged rings as symbols of their commitment. The words spoken by Cardinal Fazen resonated with the gathered crowd, emphasizing the significance of love, unity, and the bonds that bring people together.
As Vert and Lira exchanged their vows and were pronounced husband and wife, a wave of happiness and love washed over them and the congregation. However, their joy was short-lived as Vert's health took a sudden and alarming turn for the worse.
Vert, who had been battling the mysterious decay in his stone-like flesh for so long, collapsed right there at the altar. The patch of moss on his face had worsened, and the decay had intensified, taking a toll on his fragile form. Gasps of shock and concern echoed through the church as the congregation realized the gravity of the situation.
Lira, filled with panic and fear, rushed to Vert's side, cradling him in her arms. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pleaded for help from anyone who could offer it. The Cardinal, Fazen, immediately began to assess Vert's condition, calling for medical assistance from the congregation.
The once-celebratory atmosphere in the church had turned somber and tense as everyone watched with bated breath, hoping for a miracle that would save Vert's life. The couple, who had just exchanged their vows of love and commitment, now faced an uncertain and perilous future. The fate of Vert, and the love story he had shared with Lira, hung in the balance, and the congregation could only hope that they could find some way to save him from the relentless decay that threatened to consume him.
== Storyline updates ==
=== Meeting Riegan ===
Late at night, Vert leaves the Drunken Duck slightly drunk from a night of lone drinking. He is not sure what happened to his old drinking partner, Viktor. *He stumbles* over to the library of Gaular, *loudly barging open the door* and *walks* over to the brewing section, *hoping to find ideas* to inspire him with the creation of new brews. During his prowl, *he hears* the sound of a person sleeping. *Surprised, he turns* around the shelf he was looking at to see a tall, thin, and bony man in a dark blue and white suit, face down with paperwork scattered around him. Worried and slightly confused, *in his stupor*, Vert *stumbles* towards this stranger and roughly *prods* them with his rocky index finger. "Ow ow ow, okay, I'm up!" *exclaims* the stranger with clear dissatisfaction at being awoken. Vert, still slightly worried for the stranger's well-being, *asks*, "Are you okay there?" The man, still looking exhausted due to visible dark shadows under each of his eyes, *stares* up at Vert with a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth and *grumbles*, "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." before pinching the bridge of his nose and continuing, "I'm fine." 
Vert, making up his mind that the stranger desperately needs sleep, *insists*, "You should really get some sleep." However, the stranger *protests*, "I still have work to do!" Grimly, Vert *slams* his fist on the hardwood table over the man's most substantial pile of paperwork, leaving a slight crater in the oak. "Perhaps I was not clear enough... you are going home to get some sleep." Clearly unbothered, the man *takes* a long drag of his cigarette before continuing to write as he had previously intended.
Vert, spurred on by the slight alcoholic influence on his mind, *proceeds* to grab the man's pen, *breaking* it in the process, and more gently *picks up* the sheet of paper that was being written on. Even more unimpressed, the stranger *looks* up at Vert and suddenly has both the paper and a brand new pen in his grasp. Now beginning to get mad, Vert *yells*, "If you want to play that game, I will take the table," before *snatching* up the table. Exasperated, the stranger *looks* up at Vert, reasoning that taking the table would reflect badly on Vert as it would surely upset the librarian. *Slamming* the table down, Vert agrees with this but *accidentally breaks* the leg of the table. Ashamed, he decides to double down on this action, *exclaiming*, "This game can be played in other ways," before *mumbling*, "Damn Betula is gonna kill me." The stranger *concedes*, returning the papers to his slightly weathered brown suitcase and *asks*, "Now who even are you, why are you bothering me?"
"I'm nobody, just a dryad with an interest in books who believes you desperately need to get some sleep," *Vert grumbles*. In response to this, the stranger *pulls* out another, seemingly longer sheet of paper and *looks* over it. "Vert de Haricoville-Curassier, right?" Vert, shocked that this stranger seems to know who he is, hastily *attempts* to grab the paper, which is *snatched* away before he reaches it impossibly fast by the stranger, who *yells*, "I think not!" The stranger, it seems, is now fully alert. "Why is my name in your papers and just who are you!?" *bellows* Vert, clearly now in distress. "I'm Gascoigne Riegan, and my papers have information on everyone, so don't worry." Slightly relieved but starting to become drowsy, Vert *asks*, "Very well then, but what do you have on me?" Riegan reads through the mysterious paper before listing off various information, including Vert's relationships and other assorted details. Suddenly excited, Vert *perks* up. "Wait, is it possible you have any information on my parents? They were both dryads, if that helps." Riegan once again looks through the paper before apologetically *muttering*, "Hmmm, nope, sorry. Well, I have a meeting, so I will see you around." Vert, disappointed, does not attempt to stop the man from leaving and *catches* a brief glimpse of something that seemed like a golden scale out of the corner of his eye. However, by the time he turns, whatever it was, as well as Riegan, are gone. He dejectedly *trudges* back to Esaqu before *collapsing* into bed.
=== An issue with the Librarian ===
The next morning, Vert awoke and *began brewing* himself a small pot of tea when he noticed a letter which had been *slid* neatly under the door. It curiously bore the insignia of Gaular. He *picked it up*, curious because it was addressed from Gaular, and carefully *read the paper*. His eyes widened with worry - he had been summoned to appear in the Drunken Duck by an unknown party. Vert, ever cautious, *gathered everything* he could possibly need for self-defense, including his armor, katana, and some herbal drinks to supplement his strength. He quickly *ate some lunch* before setting off. It was late afternoon by the time Vert arrived in Gaular. *Traveling in his armor took far longer* than walking, which normally took him just half an hour. Upon arriving in town, he *headed straight for the designated meeting spot*, warily looking around for possible threats.
He entered the Drunken Duck, *moving carefully* to make little noise, hoping to catch anyone planning a trap by surprise. He walked into the main area. *As he walked across the bar floor*, he heard a sudden noise behind him and *spun around* to find... the friendly local librarian, Betula. *Betula greeted* Vert, "Vert! How are you?" while *drawing slightly closer*. Vert *warily replied*, "Good!" before *questioning*, "You?" It was at this point that Vert *noticed* a gleaming blue sword sheathed in Betula's cloak. Betula *replied*, "Oh, I am doing well!" before *following up with*, "There have been some little... temporary setbacks, though." Vert, *surprised*, *responded*, "Oh my, what happened?" before *remembering the previous night's events* and his breaking of the table. He *decided to act friendly*, hoping they would be less aggressive if he was apologetic. He *removed his armor* while *listening to Betula* mention some recent trouble in their library. He *suggested* it may have been the new person, Riegan, who he distinctly remembered as seeming rather shady, though he was not sure why he thought this. Betula *raised an eyebrow* and *remarked*, "It is funny you would say that actually." Vert, *not noticing this*, *continued*, mentioning how Riegan was new in Gaular in his sorry attempt to portray Riegan as the scapegoat of this issue. An eyebrow still raised, Betula *continued*, "I am, as you are no doubt well aware, very protective of my library and I ensure I am up-to-date with any issues that arise."
With a slight tinge of nervousness in his voice, Vert *responded*, "Yeah... I would not want you to catch me messing around in there!" Slightly grinning now, Betula *responded*, "What an... interesting choice of words," as Vert's eyes *flicked to the doorway*, as if he was contemplating an escape. Betula's grin *widened significantly* before they said, "I believe you are aware a table was broken last night, yes?" Feigning innocence, Vert *dramatically responded*, "A table broken? Oh my! What terrible news!" Impossibly, grinning even wider, Betula *demanded*, "Why yes, isn't it just... you owe me a table, Vert." Vert *tried one last time to feign innocence*, "I do?" Humorlessly, Betula *responded*, "Yes." Finally conceding that Betula was sure of the previous night's events, Vert *questioned*, "Of what variety?" Betula *responded* with a notoriously rare and expensive variety of cedar, fine Viratayn cedarwood, *hovering one hand over the sword* that had been inconspicuously placed within their robe. Defensively, *roots shot out of Vert* and began intertwining with the floorboards of the Duck. Not yet noticing the roots, Betula *continued*, "I know, as I bought it from a town there myself." They then *noticed the roots*, steadily branching out from Vert, and *reasoned*, "My apologies, I should not have brought my sword indoors," and *continued*, mentioning there were two options to resolve the issue. He could either pay them a total of 2000 for a replacement table or he could fix the table to a satisfactory standard. Having just paid off a large loan, Vert *was very short on money*, so he decided to repair the table instead.
Betula then *indicated* that Vert should follow them and *walked into the library*. He *pointed out the table*, which was now propped up on a stack of books, the leg leaning off a nearby wall. He *picked up the leg* and removed the books, *fusing the leg to the table* using some roots, with a concerned look on his face, as something felt wrong. Getting up, he *informed Betula* that there was both good news and bad news. The good news was that the table would be fully repaired after a small sanding, and the bad news was that the chair was a fake and was not carved from fine Viratayn cedarwood or even basic cedar wood. Betula, understandably enraged by this realization, *shouted*, "I'm going to strangle that grinning..." before going deadly calm and asking, "... do excuse me. Could you please tell me what the table is in fact made of?" Shrugging, Vert *responded*, "With the ease I was able to fix it with? I would say it is likely regular spruce." Betula *continued fuming for a moment*, then calmed down slightly and *asked*, "Could you at least check everything else?" Vert *extended some roots* and *checked the rest of the furniture* in the room, which were all genuine, before *apologetically leaving* to return home.
=== A journey to the past ===
The scenery was stunning; *a cool breeze could be felt from a far entrance.* The trickle of the surrounding waterfalls was interrupted only by the familiar laughter of those he called his family. *He could not remember how long it had been since he had returned to these caves;* the past seemed but a fuzzy image in his head. *Today, he was learning the mimicry arts of the Shylie.*
*The surrounding caves were filled with sounds of joy and laughter.* Vert smiled - *after all, he would never have to leave this place.* As he continued on, *something was wrong;* his once lush and blooming moss was withering away and had a tinge of brown. *This issue grew rapidly, and submerged in worry, he did not notice until it was too late.* *The sounds of laughter had faded,* and that cool breeze was no more. He looked around him and saw the frosts of the Castellan heartland looming above him. *But he had just been in the cave; how could he be here?*
*Panicked,* he reached out for the memories and *awoke to find himself in his bed.* Concerned, Lira asked him, "What is wrong? Is something bothering you?" Vert, *remembering his surroundings,* wearily shook his head. "It's nothing important," he told her reassuringly, before continuing, "I will have to depart on a journey for a while tomorrow. I have to see something." Seeing his resolve as solid as the stone-like material that made up his skin, *Lira decided not to attempt convincing Vert otherwise.* *The next morning,* Vert left Esaqu with supplies and a horse.
(3 weeks later) 
It felt like it had been months since Vert had left the shelter of Esaqu. A blizzard was afoot, and snow swirled around him. He could feel the frost on his face deeply freezing; some bits had already chipped off. The horse had died of frostbite, he thought, earlier that day. *Why couldn't he have stayed in the shelter of his home?* He wasn't upset or anything. All he knew was he wanted to find those he had grown up with. Just as his legs gave out beneath him, he felt warm, very warm. It was as if he had been whisked away from the icy terrain of Sparwood.
Groaning, Vert opened his eyes, feeling like he had been asleep for a long time. He saw that he was not in the icy plain anymore but was in a cave. He sat up and looked around, *wondering* how he was here and how he was still alive; he did not know these things. Looking around, he was reminded of his dream—the quiet trickle of waterfalls and the lush growth on the rocky walls. However, he noticed a few differences: the sounds of laughter had faded, and that brilliant sunshine was enveloped in what seemed to be a sea of black. Stretching his arms out, *Vert exited the hut and found the cave to be empty. However, faint footsteps echoed from a nearby passage, leading him to walk and meet the mysterious character behind them.*
As he passed through the passage, he *tripped on a particularly large root*. Vert steadied himself after stumbling and took a deep breath, his eyes adjusting to the dimly lit cave. The echoes of faint footsteps had faded, leaving the cavern eerily silent. *Dusting off his military jacket*, Vert ventured forward, his curiosity pushing him deeper into the depths of the cave. As he walked, the walls seemed to whisper secrets that hinted at lost memories. *They were adorned with shimmering crystals and vibrant lichens*. The faint glow of mushrooms cast shadows across the cave floor, guiding his path. He wandered down the passage, the sound of his footsteps echoing against the stone walls. The cave seemed to stretch endlessly, and Vert couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, although he saw no one.
Finally, he reached a larger chamber, its ceiling soaring high above. The air was thick with a damp, earthy smell, and a faint breeze carried the distant sound of trickling water. Vert glanced around, *his eyes adjusting to the sudden burst of light being given off by much bigger mushrooms*. In the center of the chamber lay a small pool of crystal-clear water, reflecting the sudden luminescence of the mushrooms. *He took a break to rub his eyes*. Approaching the pool, Vert knelt down, cupping his hands and taking a sip of the cool water. Refreshed, he gazed at the pool's surface, mesmerized by the way the ripples distorted the reflections of the cave walls.
Coming around a corner, Vert spotted a faint light emanating from a distant chamber. The footsteps seemed to originate from there. With cautious steps, *he advanced*, his rocky heart pounding in anticipation of what lay ahead. Just as he approached the chamber, a loose stone underfoot shifted, causing Vert to stumble forward. He regained his balance, a bit embarrassed by the mishap, and turned to glance back at the passage he'd just navigated, only to be met with the sight of a figure emerging from the shadows. It was someone he hadn't seen in years, a familiar face from his past, but the details remained obscured in the dimly lit cave. Vert's breath caught in his throat, recognizing the silhouette of a long-lost friend waiting at the entrance of the passage.
As Vert drew closer to the shadowed figure, *their shape and details* became clearly visible. It was one of the many Shylie he had left behind when he departed the caves. This particular individual was an older specimen, easily pushing his thousands, yet *he appeared* reasonably healthy for his age, with only small parts of his moss looking withered—an early stage of decay that told Vert the elder had little time once it caught on. A raspy voice emerged from the character, "Is that you, Sibirica?" Confused, Vert questioned the name. The elderly Dryad explained how they had found him back in his younger years in the snow, almost dead, and named him Sibirica after the tree they believed he hailed from. Vert chuckled before responding, "Well, I go by Vert now. Nice to see you again. Is there anywhere we could catch up? So much has happened since we last saw each other."
*They returned* to one of the many waterfalls Vert had passed through earlier, now filled with dryads and the familiar laughter of Vert's childhood, and *sat down* mere meters away from the water's edge. *They spoke* for many hours, the exact passing of time made unclear by their depth within the cave. Almost begrudgingly, Vert bid the elderly dryad farewell as *he collected* the few supplies he had managed to keep, as well as a vibrant collection that had been left for him as a gift from his old village. He had greatly enjoyed the brief but deep visit he had made here and intended to return in the future, perhaps with a few of his family members or those he considered his friends. Viktor and Claude came to mind in this train of thought—he wondered if they would find a trip to his homeland worthwhile or perhaps even enjoyable.
*He then strode* out of the cave into the cool but sunny plains of summer. *He blinked*, clearing the dust from his eyes. Wait, summertime? He had left in the middle of winter—or he thought he had... was he really away for so long? His pace, at a leisurely stroll, immediately sped up to a brisk stride. *He realized* he had spent a long time talking to the elder in that cave. He had to return home and check if his family was well. Just a few days later, *he approached* the walls of Esaqu, though he feared he might be far too late.
He *burst* through the doors of his house to see Lira relaxing at the table. When she sees Vert, *a look* of heavy relief washes over her face. She rushes over to check if he isn't harmed before inquiring, "How was your trip?" with a slight twinge of emotion that Vert cannot place, as all he can see is the relief seemingly plastered over her face. He *smiles* and replies, "It was so good; I have a lot to tell you!" Then, remembering how long he was gone, he *asks*, "Are you okay?" Lira faces him and begins speaking, icy calm, "Well, we have been fine." Reassured, Vert *responds*, "Oh, that is good." Lira suddenly *interrupts*, now shouting, "Did you really think we were alright? You left for five months, and we had no sign of you! The kids and I have been worried sick! I had to ask Viktor for help with them," before calming down and finally settling into a chair. Surprised by the exact amount of time he had been gone, he reassures her in an effort to *apologize*.
After they have both *taken* a seat, Viktor comes around the corner, followed by a young-looking girl. She seems frightened by the size of Vert, so Viktor has to *reassure* her before she continues forwards. Vert does not see her at first and *says*, "Hey Vik, how are you doing?" before he sees the girl and *questions*, "Who is this?" Viktor *responds*, telling Vert about how he found her locked up at a cultist compound and is now *looking* after her. Vert *kneels* down in an attempt to be less big and scary and *says*, "Hey, little one, how are you?" Hecate, *looking* at him, her pupil still slightly shaking out of terror, quietly *whispers*, "Good." Vert notices this and *tries* to reach out to her by means of food. He *tears* a small bit of moss off his face, wincing slightly, and *reaches* out with his hand, "Here, try this - it is good!" Seeing the scary man tearing off what seems to be his skin, Hecate *shies* behind Viktor and has to be *encouraged* out before she feels the moss.
Upon *feeling* the moss, her eyes go wide, and she *rushes* toward Vert, *giving* him a hug. Vert *turns* to Viktor, "You are going to have to *tell* me the full story later; for now, I'm going to get some food." When Vert *tries* to move, however, the young girl *sticks* to his leg like glue, *making* it rather difficult to walk. To *counter* this, he *picks* her up, after which she *feels* the moss on his face before *saying* one word, "...soft."
=== An issue in Gaular ===
It was pitch black in the middle of the night. The gate guard hadn’t seen anything peculiar, so he figured it would be another uneventful night in a myriad of uneventful nights… that is until he heard the *clack* of a pair of shoes approaching on the stone road. “At this hour?” he thought to himself. He *peered* into the darkness and saw a lone figure slowly walking towards the gate with his hands behind his back. As he got closer, he made out more of his features. He was impeccably dressed with a long red velvet coat, a black and red undershirt with a matching vest. He wore circular sunglasses with dark red-tinted lenses. His hair was dark blond, and his skin looked oddly pale. Perhaps it was just the trickery of the moonlight, but his teeth seemed to be shining. He *approached* silently, and the guard said, “Halt, state your name!” The man *strolled* up to him; his blood-red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness. “Arthur Pentecost, my good man. I’m simply here to visit.” “Do you have any identification?” the guard asked. “Of course, sir. Allow me.” Pentecost *swiped* his hand, and a black mist briefly shrouded it. The guard let him in, no questions asked. In fact, he *apologized* for holding Mr. Pentecost up. Arthur *strolled* past the gate guard and muttered under his breath, “Now, dearest mother, why are you so interested in the city of Gaular…?"
Citizens would only ever see this individual at night, wearing that red coat with dark red sunglasses. Even though it would usually be around midnight, it was strange. Whenever someone interacted with him, he would simply introduce himself as Arthur, and everyone just so happened to forget the rest. Although one detail remained: bright red eyes, always bright red eyes. No matter what time or when they would see him, his crimson-colored eyes would be the only thing they remembered besides his name. Something more supernatural is going on here. Although one witness did report something suspicious when walking in front of his estate on their way back home. They *heard* the sound of something, or possibly someone being dragged behind his estate. Something supernatural is definitely happening, and it might not be good.
The gate guard *runs* to the door of Viktor's house and *knocks* in a panic. “Mister Viktor, please come out. We require your assistance!” But walking to the door, dressed now in a white shirt with a black necktie is Hecate, her hypnotic yellow eyes *staring* deep into his. “Oh, um… where is Viktor? Do you know? We require his help with…” The girl simply *says*, “Stop,” and mid-sentence the guard *freezes* and turns away, feeling compelled that he could handle the situation. He didn’t need help from Viktor; he should go elsewhere. Be careful; it’s a common practice in that family to disguise your true self…
Arthur's plans were going well. He is infiltrating high society rather *smoothly*. Another week passed without any issues until a vampire agent *rushes* into his office. Arthur *perks* up, expecting good news, but he is given horrible news instead. “Sire, they’re back! Both of them dealt with the elder and his assassins!” Arthur's eyes *widened*, and he *looked* out the window to see two people walking in through the front gates of Gaular: a well-dressed man with a golden pin on his chest and a muscular man with a scar on his lip. Viktor and Riegan are back.
Viktor lay there *slumped* against a tree with blood dripping from his chest. Those vampires got him good; he was too tough for them to kill him, but they were able to injure him quite seriously. He *winced* and *clutched* his chest. Viktor wasn’t one to complain, so all he did was sit there in silence, trying to stop the bleeding. That is until he *heard* what sounded like footsteps. His eyes *darted* over to where he heard the noise, still alert from the amount of adrenaline coursing through his body. He saw a person with short hair and a strange black mark over their eye. He *stared* in confusion for a moment before they *noticed* him. Despite their seemingly youthful appearance, they had a singular streak of grey hair running through the middle of their head. Viktor *tried* to spatter out words, but the blood had gotten to his lungs, his vision began to fade, his knees *weakening*. With a heavy thud, he *collapsed* to the ground, and just before his sight turned to black, he saw that it wasn’t a normal person, that *entity* walking towards him.
His eyes *snapped* open and *darted* around, still dazed. He *sat* there wondering how long he had been out until he *heard* a soft voice call out to him. “Hm, barely took you any time; you recover quite quickly, Mr. Lozharo.” His eyes *shot* over to where he heard the voice, and again there was that, he had no clue at this point, but the black marks on their skin had spread to different places. Viktor *spoke* clearly, his injuries having healed from his extreme durability. “…And you are…?” They *looked* surprised. “So your mother never mentioned me? That’s a shame. I suppose you were too young when she passed away.” Viktor was even more confused. They claim to be older than him when they don’t even look a day over 20. “Well… why don’t you tell me now?” Viktor *asked*. They simply *smiled* back and said, “Uriel, Uriel Tempest.” Viktor *furrowed* his eyebrows in confusion. “And… I’m supposed to know you?” “Who do you think it was that kept those old bastards from throwing you out for that long?” Viktor’s eyes *widened* in realization; they had been the one to halt his execution when he was younger? How old were they? Viktor *asked* hesitantly. “…You were there in my childhood?” They *responded* plainly. “Oh, I’ve been around much longer before your childhood, dear. If I remember correctly, I am… 3000 years old, yes, that’s it.” Viktor was really surprised now. How did they even find him? They *got* up and gave him a *pat* on the head. “Now you rest and recover; trust me, dear, nobody will find you here.” Viktor couldn’t find it in himself to sleep, so he *did* all he could, and that was wait.
Viktor *sat* there, unmoving as Uriel simply *milled* about, not really doing much. He was actually about to fall back asleep until he *heard* a familiar hissing sound; those vampires, the ones who tried to kill him, they were back. *Springing* to his feet, he saw the three of them, weapons and claws brandished. He *readied* himself for a fight until Uriel *placed* a hand on his shoulder. “You sit back down, dear; I’ll deal with them.” Viktor *looked* hesitant, but based on the look in her eyes, she seemed serious. He *sat* back down, and what happened is surely going to stick with him for a while. With a wave of their hand, Uriel *tore* the three Camarilla agents to shreds. They didn’t even have to touch them. Viktor’s eyes *went* wide, but he quickly composed himself. Clearly, there was more to this mysterious being who claimed to know him. He just didn’t know it yet. He *sat* there tapping his finger on the ground impatiently until Uriel finally *said* something. “Done resting, dear?” Viktor *nodded* silently, and before he could speak, Uriel *cut* him off. “Yes, yes, you want to get back to your family; I know.” Viktor *froze*; Uriel just read exactly what he was thinking, and before he could react, Uriel *waved* and said, “Goodbye for now, Mister Lozharo,” and *snapped* their fingers. Viktor was back at Gaular’s gates. Again, he quickly composed himself and *walked* inside. Would he ever see Uriel again? Maybe… maybe not. That one was curious and unpredictable, but for now, he just had to keep going forward, like he always does.
He *sat* down, *staring* at the shining cup of tea in his hands. He *saw* that his face was starting to wrinkle; he was getting older. While he may only be in his early forties, he knew as he *stared* down at his reflection in the tea, he didn’t have much time left. Just as Viktor was about to get lost in the reflection, he *could* hear a commotion from the downstairs living room. At first, it *sounded* like talking but quickly transitioned to shouting. *Wary* of a possible threat, he *motioned* for Hecate to follow behind him — that way he could protect her. Upon going downstairs, he found his long-lost friend in what seemed to be an argument with his wife and immediately *dropped* his guard, *motioning* that Hecate should go say hello. She was clearly terrified though, so he gave her a little push, finally convincing her that the large rocky man may not be her enemy. After a quick conversation with Vert, he *put* Hecate - who now found the soft moss of this mysterious man to be the softest thing she'd ever felt - to sleep.
Viktor walked out of Gaular, striding with purpose after saying his goodbyes, and as he left the confines of the walls, only a select few knew… nobody would see him again, he was old, uneeded, but he knew one thing he had to do before his death… the watcher had a vessel… and he was going to change that.
But before he leaves he felt a rough hand grip his shoulder, Viktor turned around and… saw his friend Riegan, he looked just as tired as he was, Riegan spoke softly “I know that look in your eyes Vik, what are you doing” Viktor looked down a little ashamed and said “I need to stop him Riegan, for good this time, I know this might kill me and I’ve come to terms with that, so… please don’t try to stop me” Riegan sighed still with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, he shook his head and looked back up at Viktor “Then I’m coming with you” Viktor’s eyes widened “my Judicators sword is the best bet you have… let me come with you” Viktor hesitated for a moment, as he knew if he agreed he would be putting Riegan in serious danger… but he was right, Riegan was the best bet he had, so he said yes, Riegan pulled out another cigarette and gestures for Viktor to take it and he does, Riegan lights it for him and the two friends walk off… Riegan speaks up “I’ve met the ones you raised… they’re  good kids… they can handle themselves I know it…” Riegan joined Viktor… and was never seen again.
Viktor and Riegan walked down the dusty road in silence, they knew what was coming and there was no lightheartedness in the air… Viktor heard footsteps and without a second thought whipped around with a weapon in hand, Riegan did the same but there wasn’t an enemy standing there… but Viktor’s student… Kotelus Castellan stood there Viktor backed off immediately and asked “what exactly are you doing here…” Kotelus responded with “saw you leave early, figured I’d might as well join you if it was important” Viktor might have let Riegan help him fight but Kotelus was where he would draw the line, he’s not endangering his own student “no, you are not to accompany us” Kotelus responded quickly with “but-“ Viktor cut him off “no, I’m not putting you in danger” Kotelus looked down “Can I at least come” Viktor hesitated slightly but caved saying “you run if I tell you, got it?” Kotelus nodded and followed behind Viktor and Riegan… he would be the only one to come back unscathed.
After days travel they finally arrived… the watchers shrine, a large temple dedicated to the god, Viktor and Riegan stormed in, insisting Kotelu stays behind. The two made their way to a grand courtyard, and saw him… four arms… six eyes… the watcher stared down at the two and said in an almost mocking tone “mortals, and one without magic, if you wish to die I should at least know your names” Viktor’s words sounded more like a snarl “Viktor” Riegan fixed his tie “Riegan” The watcher smiled and said “you may be foolish but I cannot deny your bravery, you may know my true name… Nikolai, I was human like you once, isn’t that interesting?” Viktor stared up at him on his throne and said with a look in his eyes Riegan had never seen before “As if I care, human, god, You all die the same to me” Nikolai smiled and for a moment felt a surge of confidence… before he made direct eye contact with Viktor, he felt a sensation he had long forgotten even if for just a moment he felt… his life being in genuine danger.
(Content warning for violence and gore until the next bracket)
Viktor started to walk towards Nikolai, no great speech, Viktor was a simple man and even in the most dire situations little can change that, so he started to walk towards Nikolai, as he did that Nikolai activated his magic causing a small cut to appear on Viktor’s cheek, and another… and another, Riegan watched with wide eyes as Viktor looked to get sliced to ribbons in front of his eyes… but it would take much more than that, Viktor’s wounds looked to have already scarred and the bleeding stopped within seconds, he crouched down and in a blink of an eye his fist ripped into Nikolai’s jaw sending him careening through the back walls of the temple, following up was Riegan who increased the size of his gavel and slammed downward into Nikolai, Viktor attempted to finish him off quickly but saw a faint glow underneath the crumbled stone and timber… he leaned back as far as he could while Riegan took cover, a large blast of fire tore upwards nearly missing Viktor almost incinerating him instantly, Nikolai tore his way out of the rubble and looked Viktor and Riegan in the eyes, this fight is only just beginning.
Viktor, now drenched in his own blood runs at Nikolai, ramming his shoulder into the gods chest knocking the wind out of him, he grabbed Nikolai and tossed him towards Riegan… where Riegans spirit, justice appeared behind him, Riegan looked Nikolai dead in the eyes and uttered an incantation, Nikolai froze up and in Riegans hand slowly light began to crackle and take shape, an image of a scale was burnt into his palm as in Riegans grasp appeared the one thing that could kill a god in a singular strike… the sword of Judication, Nikolai started to sweat for the first time in a century.
Riegan wound up and took a swing at Nikolai, who leaned back barely enough for it to miss him, Riegan began to initiate close quarters with Nikolai, dancing in between his strikes and throwing whichever he could, but eventually he was overwhelmed and struck in the chest, sending him tumbling back slamming into a wall, Nikolai turned to Viktor, he barely even looked human, his body was drenched in his own blood, his eyes empty and his lips slightly parted in a trance, he seems to have reverted to an almost animalistic instinct, a base urge programmed into his mind, his thoughts rang with a single word “kill, kill, kill” In a flash he drop kicks Nikolai in the chest and follows up with hand to hand of his own, Viktor was actually able to, unlike Riegan, keep up with the god, trading blows left and right yet no matter how hard Viktor was struck nothing seemed to even make him flinch, Nikolai had a smile of pure ecstasy as he said “Viktor Von Lozharo, truly you are entertaining”.
Viktor felt a sharp pain on his cheek as Nikolai’s clawed fist ripped into his face, he was sent flying all the way back to the entrance of the temple, landing next to Kotelu and snapping out of his trance when he saw the incredibly concerned look on his face, he pointed to Viktor’s cheek and said “Teacher… what… what happened” Viktor hesitantly touched his cheek, and felt bone and teeth, a large piece his cheek had been torn off revealing the teeth underneath it, his eyes widened slightly, and already covered in his own blood he pointed a finger at Kotelu and uttered two words “back away” remembering what Viktor told him Kotelu took of as fast as he could not wanting to be caught in this battle of tectonic proportions, of man vs god, Viktor lunged back to where Nikolai stood with blinding speed and wound up landing a solid kick against his jaw into a chest punch from Riegan who was orienting himself still recovering from the blow he received earlier, Nikolai stared in the empty eyes of Viktor and said still with that smile on his face “it seems like we both have plenty left in the tank”.
Viktor could feel the impact before he noticed what was happening, the punch would’ve torn a hole through the average person. But Viktor Von Lozharo is no average man, he reflexively braced his chest as Nikolai’s clawed fist made contact, and he felt himself rise… and rise… and rise until he burst out of the top of the temple… as Nikolai leapt to pursue him Viktor started to feel something… a sensation he’d nearly forgotten from the years of combat without a proper foe… Viktor felt the intense feeling… of overwhelming satisfaction Viktor cracked a sadistic smile as he felt his heart race, his adrenaline increasing, Viktor finally felt the exhilaration of a real fight. *Viktor slammed his palm into Nikolai’s chin as he rose up to meet Viktor, the two danced in the air each with smiles plastered across their faces, eventually Viktor managed to get the upper hand, grabbing Nikolai by the arm and tossing him back down, and as he did he let out a laugh, an almost sickening laugh but this was the most fun Viktor had in ages, He pursued Nikolai back down to the ground and looked back up at him, his bright blue eyes shining in the setting sun, he spattered out the words “my student is watching, so I guess I gotta show off a little more” he gestured to Kotelu who had backed away to a safe distance yet still saw the bloody spectacle the man and god performed, Nikolai looked at Viktor and knew, this was where he was to die, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
As the two once again clashed in a flurry of blows Viktor’s right shoulder was punctured as Nikolai’s claws dug into his skin, rather than seeing this as a failure Viktor saw this as an opportunity, he slammed his forehead into Nikolai’s nose as he was unable to move due to his claws being stuck in Viktor’s body, but as he tore them out and dodged backwards he knew if he was going to die so way Viktor. From Viktor’s perspective he saw Nikolai swipe his hand… and then silence… then pain, stinging nigh unbearable pain from his right arm, Viktor grit his teeth and looked down… everything from his right elbow down had been severed, his eyes widened and a sickening smile appeared on Nikolai’s face, but what he didn’t expect was Riegan to appear behind his friend and hand him his tie, Viktor thinking quickly tied the tie around what was left of his arm to stem the bleeding and Riegan dashed towards Nikolai to keep him busy, and while any sane person would flee, Viktor Von Lozharo simply picked up speed, faster and faster, until Nikolai, a god, couldn’t even tell where he is, he chuckled to himself and thought “I’ve never seen talent like this since I was a boy, Viktor Von Lozharo I have to say, you are truly a monster”
Viktor had to resort to using his legs, throwing precise kicks towards Nikolai who did his best to dodge them, Nikolai knew he had to finish this and to do so he had to split up, Viktor couldn’t guard properly due to his missing arm so Nikolai was able to slip past and land a devestating blow to Viktor’s chest sending him tumbling back, Nikolai was sure he killed him. Riegan swung with everything he had to try and hit Nikolai taking severe damage in the process due to Nikolai’s technique, He fell to one knee and expected to be killed then and there, but Nikolai waited, saying “I shouldn’t waste your talent, go on, heal, give me everything you’ve got “Riegan backed away and his wounds began to close up, Nikolai let him heal before lunging at him yet again, Riegan looked up at the setting sun casting a silhouette on Nikolai… until he noticed a second silhouette behind him, Viktor Von Lozharo, Nikolai saw him, barely alive surely with multiple shattered bones and shouted at the top of his lungs “CAN HELL NOT HOLD YOU VIKTOR VON LOZHARO” Viktor simply responded with a bleeding smile as he finally got what he wanted, a challenge that’s the only reason he got back up, he wanted this fight to continue, so he could die because someone was stronger than him, not from old age or disease, he could die feeling the thrill, the delicate dance between life and death, he could die because he lost this is exactly what he wanted.
Taking his chance Riegan leapt in and took a swing at Nikolai, again and again both Viktor and Riegan attempted to kill the god until Viktor was batted away with the back of Nikolai’s palm, he regained control and started sprinting back to the fight as Riegan took another swing and… he hit! But as he looked at Nikolai’s hand… he realized Nikolai had cut off his own hand, seconds before the blades impact, Riegans heart sank, he looked up at Nikolai and over at Viktor, he thought to himself “…I shouldn’t try to apologize, he might just take it as guilt… I’m sorry Viktor… I trust you” and with a bleeding smile he tossed the Judicators sword to Viktor and uttered his final words “You’ve got the rest” and with a swipe of Nikolai’s hand Riegan fell to his knees a large gash tearing his suit in half… Gascoigne Riegan, age 37, has died.
(Flashback chapter, 21 years earlier) Viktor sat at his desk spinning a pencil in his hands, he usually got a lot of weird looks being the only kid here with zero magic, a phenomenon barely anyone has even heard of, as the classroom filled up someone walked in who caught his eye… dressed in a white uniform with a high collar, black slacks and white shoes, his hair was a dark black that parted at the middle and his eyes had prominent bags underneath them, with a sigh he sat next to Viktor due to that being the only available seat and he looked over at Viktor, his empty amber eyes staring at Vik, he studied him, his messy brown hair, bright blue eyes and the fact he was the largest person in there, he tapped Viktor on the shoulder and spoke, his voice was raspy and tired but… oddly calming “Viktor… right?” Viktor perked up slightly startled by this tired looking man suddenly speaking to him “uh, yeah that’s me” the man spoke again “Riegan, just call me Riegan good to meet you Viktor”.
Viktor stared at the lifeless form of Riegan, laying there with glossed over eyes, he stared down at him, his sword clutched in his hand, he looked up at the sickening smile of Nikolai and spun the sword in his hand, and dashed towards Nikolai, he was tossed to the side but got back up, punched, kicked, slashed, thrown, crushed, but each and every time, Viktor Von Lozharo famously stubborn, stood right back up for hours and hours on end until… Nikolai read his heartbeat… it wasn’t there anymore… he turned away in disappointment, Viktor, the man so talented… had died… that is until he felt a presence so terrifying, so suffocating a him, a god, could barely breathe, Viktor got back up, his massive, bloodied frame towering over him, Nikolai, a god of uncountable age, froze in fear, in the face of a mortal man, who seemed to resemble more that of a mania stricken madman than a normal human, Viktor with expert precision and speed drove the blade into his stomach, having it burst out the other side in a spectacular show of cruelty, Viktor held no mercy for Nikolai and this was apparently clear, he tore the blade out and kicked him to his back before standing above him, his face caked in his own blood with nothing but a singular shining eye staring down at Nikolai, the god was sure he has witnessed death himself, and with that Viktor drove the blade into his neck, killing a god nigh instantly, Nikolai Orkanov, age ???? Has died.
Viktor stumbled back and fell down, he was exhausted, his arm was still leaking his own blood and he could feel his vision fading, Riegan was dead, so was Nikolai… he was so tired… so very tired… he should get back to Gaular… he has to make sure everyone is safe right? No… he trusts Vert and Sonic… he knows they’ll take care of everyone… right? He can rest… he’s so tired… he’s so very tired… Viktor’s eyes began to close as the sun set, he knew Kotelu was safe, he knew everyone was okay… he should just close his eyes… yeah… he should close his eyes, Viktor Von Lozharo, age 38, has died.
Viktor braced himself for the bitter cold he’d felt just a moment before… but there was… a different sensation… warmth… his eyes opened and he squinted as the sun met his gaze and he sat up to find himself in a place that seemed familiar… but oddly distant… it was a field of reeds, stretching as fas as his eye could see, he looked around and heard a soft voice call out from behind him, one he has missed oh so dearly “Hello, Viktor” Viktor’s head turned around and he was met with the face of the woman he’d fallen head over heels in love with all that time ago “Mai…” his voice began to shake and she calmly walked towards him placing a hand on his cheek, she spoke softly “it’s good to see you again, my love, and I’m sure we will speak all about what happened in my absence… but… I believe someone has been waiting a while for you” she gently turned his face towards a different direction in the field… and Viktor recognized the silhouette almost instantly… long black hair kept in a bun at the top, soft features standing at 6,0, his old friend… Jayson Locksworth… Viktor’s lip began to tremble and he started to walk towards Jayson… Jayson turned to look at him and… his eyes practically lit up the room, Viktor began to pick up speed, so did Jayson, this continued until Jayson stopped and opened his arms, Viktor immediately hugged him so hard the two of them went tumbling to the ground, and Viktor did something he hasn’t done in a while… He began to cry…
(Should be good to continue here if you skipped this part)
Worried by the note he had received from Viktor during the party, Vert *gathered* supplies and *rushed* to the location it detailed—a decrepit temple, just a few hours west from Gaular. As he *approached* the temple, obvious signs of damage were visible, and he *noted* the presence of Kotelus. Though he would normally *strike* up a conversation, he was in a rush to *check* on the state of Viktor. As he *approached* the center of the temple, he *noticed* a large crack in the ceiling before *walking* into something. Surprised, he *looked* down. The sight he *saw* would scar him for life. At first, all he *noticed* was the deeply lacerated body of Gascoigne Riegan. An ominous feeling of dread *filled* the very pit of his stomach as he *looked* forward to *see* the lifeless body of the man he had called a friend for years. As he *saw* the wide grin on Viktor’s face, he *shook* his head and *let* out a slight sob, which almost *came* out as a chuckle.
*Standing* there for a moment, his shaky voice *filled* the air, 'You should have just *asked* for my help, you stubborn fool. We could have both *survived* this together, but of course, you *knew* that… so why?' He *spoke* to the body as if *expecting* a response, *waiting* with no relief. He *stood* there as minutes *turned* to hours; the sun *circled* the sky, and as darkness *tinged* the horizon, he *began* slowly *walking* home. A look *resembling* both hopelessness and confusion *masked* his face, but no matter how hard he *tried*, he could not *place* the emotions he *felt*. None of his 244 years on this planet had *prepared* him for something like this, so he *did* all he could do and *walked* back until he *saw* the gates of the familiar city of Gaular, though it now *felt* almost foreign to him.
=== Unnatural Presence in Castell ===
Vert *almost stumbled* toward the gates of Gaular, *dejectedly meandering* in an almost trance-like state. He *crossed* the guards without trouble – they *recognized* him by now, before *walking* by the square. *Snapping* out of his trance due to a bad feeling, he *looked* up to see a well-tailored red suit, along with a shockingly pale man wearing it. At first, Vert *was just going to walk* past this stranger, but on second glance, there was something oddly animalistic about his expression; almost as if he *were a predator hunting* his prey.
Vert, *shocked* by this, *reached* up and *blocked* the stranger with his hand before *snapping*, “What are you doing here? I don't recognize you, and I don't like that look on your face!” almost recoiling from the icy cool temperature of the stranger’s skin. The stranger *placed* a thin but well-kept and shockingly strong arm atop Vert’s hand before *brushing* it off with a little exertion, *switching* his face to a more natural state. The stranger *calmly replied*, “Oh, my friend, there’s no need to be afraid,” seemingly trying to memorize Vert, giving him a strong urge to exit the city immediately.
Vert, *not buying* the subconscious suggestion that this stranger offered, *scoffed* before questioning him, “What was up with your almost… sadistic grin from before then?” Suddenly, two jagged shapes *seemed* to press out against the stranger's lips, in patterns reminiscent of fangs, and the ones the stranger had *were* clearly razor-sharp. “Now that’s quite rude of you to say, sir,” the stranger *claimed*, dropping the earlier friendly façade. “So you are a Vampire then, I take it?” Vert *guessed* without a shred of doubt in his tone, confirming his sudden assumption.
In an attempt to reaffirm his earlier façade, the stranger *responded*, “Oh, but of course not, I am not one of those horrendous creatures!” Despite the stranger’s earnest attempt to dissuade Vert’s suspicion, his bluff was too little and too late, so Vert *inquired*, “What is with the fangs then? And stop trying to hypnotize me - it won't work, and I'm not in the mood right now.” Hearing that this object the stranger had thought was prey *mentioned* his attempted hypnotizing, a vein *thickened* on the stranger’s forehead, all semblance of positivity between them thoroughly erased.
The stranger, almost sarcastically, *remarked*, “Oh, but whatever could you mean, sir?” Frustrated with this stranger’s rudeness, Vert *decided* to make himself even more clear with a heavy threat, “I mean unless you want me to snap those fangs off so you actually resemble a human, you will find somewhere else to eat. I don't know how strong you are, but I possess the required ability to reliably kill your kind.” Losing one of the people he had grown to know here was enough – Vert would not allow any more risk to the people of Gaular.
The stranger’s eyes were now almost gleaming with red, he was now openly hostile. “You seem to be mistaken, sir; I am no vampire.” Vert *could see* his words had not gotten through to the stranger. “Then let me make this perfectly clear, goodman,” Vert’s voice *went* ice-cold, “I don't fully know what you are, but I know one thing: I can kill you, and I just lost a dear friend, meaning I'm very short-tempered this evening, so go through that square and out the gate and leave the people of this kingdom unharmed!” A menacing red aura *seemed* to surround the stranger, but he finally decided to accept Vert’s threats, and he *stormed* past Vert without saying a word, though Vert *could swear* he heard the strange man *whisper* something along the lines of “Don’t bother” into a nearby shadow, his voice seething with rage.
Vert *continued* to walk, ignoring the presence of the odd man once he *was* sure they had exited Gaular.
As he rounds the corner, the form of a young man seems to materialize ahead of him. *Speaking up,* he politely exclaims, “Excuse me, si—.” *Looking at the face of his sudden guest,* he notices a resemblance to the stranger he had just warned out of Gaular. The young man reveals fangs and speaks, smirking with a voice dripping with arrogance, “I don’t know why the young Lord Pentecost didn’t kill you, but I’m not turning down a free meal.”
The young vampire crouches before methodically approaching Vert, who is now standing in the path, furrowing his brow. “Well then? Awfully brave for a weak human, are you not?” *the young vampire croons* before springing at Vert. Vert catches the vampire by the throat in midair before stating, “Firstly, I am not a human. Secondly, I am not weak. You seem to be though, I’d assume you are a rather young vampire; after all, I was able to catch you so easily proving that you are both young and inexperienced without a doubt.”
The vampire struggles against Vert’s iron grip before being released. “That was a mistake,” *the vampire snarls* before chomping down directly onto Vert’s shoulder. Soon after, his eyes widen as he feels his teeth hit Vert’s stone shoulder with force and snap clean off, leaving stumps in their place.
Vert, finally completely out of patience for the night, *summons his roots,* draining the little life essence the newbie possessed before *punching him directly in the chest*. The newbie vampire does not survive this, but if he did, he might have compared the feeling to being hit by an avalanche. As the newbie feels the force, he is suddenly granted a fleeting, though unique view of his own headless body—following a loud smack as his head hits the nearby wall. Vert is finally able to return to Esaqu, though he is almost certain his issues with the vampires that seemed to be known as the Pentecost family? At least that is what he heard the vampire refer to that extravagantly dressed stranger as.
Vert sighed. *It probably was time – after a few weeks since his death – to clear out the room he had previously let his friend, Viktor, stay in.* As he opened the door to the room, *a cloud of dust filled the stagnant air, racing to the areas of the house which had been recently cleaned and which were near-untouched by any dust already.* *A lone beam of sunlight sneaked in from between the loosely drawn curtains before Vert reached out and pulled them open.* The room was surprisingly messier than it had ever been during its previous inhabitant's stint inside it. *Laid across the desk was Viktor's signature speartip, laid on top of a note which read, "You need this more than me, Vert."* Vert picked the speartip up, *testing its weight before sheathing it in the accompanying sheath and strapping it around his back.* He opened the desk and *brushed away the few rough cobwebs; a few items caught his eye.* *Several pictures showed Viktor and his old friends, though heavily worn over time, they were still clear enough to make out the face of Riegan standing next to Viktor, as well as a few other people he couldn't place a name to.* Nothing else noteworthy, *Vert was about to close the drawer, which was nearly empty at this point before noting it seemed oddly heavy.* *He looked closer and uncovered a fake backing on the drawer.* *Hidden in the drawer was a coin which adorned crossed swords as well as the number "641" on the reverse side.* *A rolled-up sheet of parchment also rolled out.* Vert gently took it before *unrolling it.* *His eyes widened; he held a map detailing locations of numerous Pentecost covens.* *The map was not familiar, though.* *Rather than displaying a name he was familiar with, at the top of the map, he was met with the title "Abex-ilas".* *This confused him as he was not aware of a land by this name, though he had recently heard rumors which suggested an impending migration of the local Rathnirians to a distant land of a similar name.* *He rolled the map once more before slipping it safely into his much less dusty desk.* *He then proceeded to clean the room methodically.* Viktor, it seemed, held little regard for material wealth right up to the end, *as Vert found little more of any importance.*
Several years later, in Abexilas
Vert strode through the Port of Villedeboard, the last rays of sunshine petered out, giving their last stretch of futile resistance. A smile cleared his weary face as he overlooked the development of the tavern and the last few houses in the district. He began absentmindedly strolling back to his manor. Then came the screech. It was sudden and short, emanating from the nearby alley. Vert ran there at his full pace, he may be the Emperor but he still wasn't about to let anyone get hurt in his land.
As he turned the corner into the Alley, his eyes widened. A body lay against the blood-covered wall, crouched over him body was the exquisitely dressed stranger, Arthur Pentecost. Except this time his mouth was drenched with blood and his rough, jagged fangs protruded directly out of his mouth. He turned, seeing Vert and hissed, pouncing at him at speeds almost faster than Vert could see.
Vert looked in shock at the scene before him as the vampire faced him. *An icy steel fist shot into his stomach*, and *he was thrown back into a tree on the outer borders of Villedeboard*. *He coughed up a small amount of blood before looking directly ahead of him*. Arthur Pentecost was now surrounded by what resembled a red mist, his fangs pointed out, jagged and razor-sharp. As Vert felt his consciousness waning, *he took a last gamble*; *thousands of roots shot out from the surrounding trees at breakneck speeds*, and *Vert felt his strength return*. *He stood, looking at the exquisitely dressed vampire as it moved discreetly at incredible speeds*.
Unlike before, Vert, now brimming with power, could follow the movements. So, when a large pack of Arthur's subjects rushed at him, *he moved quickly—at a speed previously impossible—and knocked their heads clean off before sending out roots to drain them and finish them off completely*. Half were weak enough to be killed instantly. The other half struggled a bit longer as they felt the life draining out of their very beings. *The last one let out a weak hiss as it slipped away*.
*Vert looked up to see Arthur watching, appraisingly, as if planning his attack*. Suddenly, the vampire's expression changed, and like before, *he leapt at Vert*. But this time, it was not Vert's stomach he made contact with. Instead, *Arthur was met with the boulder-like right fist of Vert and found himself rising into the air quickly*. As he came to his senses, winded by the punch, *he was once again falling*.
As Arthur hit the ground, *he felt a sharp object against his neck*. *Vert swung Viktor's old chain blade like it weighed nothing*, and *Arthur's head flew off*, *a wet squelch emerging as it was impaled upon a particularly sharp root*. *Vert pulled his scythe from his back, skillfully driving it through the torso of the vampire, pinning it to the ground*. *Vert extended a root to the torso and attempted to drain them both of energy completely*.
*His eyes widened in shock as torrents of life filled him—this vampire had been older than him by about sixty years*. As he sucked the last of the energy from the vampire, *he collapsed*. *As he lay there, roots spread out around him, emptying the excess energy involuntarily*. The plants in the area, fed by the extreme surge in energy, began sprouting excessively; trees grew taller, and several flowers bloomed.
It was in this locale that Vert awoke. *He looked around him, seeing the surge of life, and withdrew his roots*. *He then got up, dusting his suit off*. *Looking in the vampire's pockets revealed a dusty, torn half-map which seemed exceedingly similar to the one he had received from Viktor*. *He also found a red gemstone-imbued necklace, which looked to be the source of the red mist*. *After checking for other notable items, he hauled the body with him to the royal manor*. He would burn it later.
Vert awoke the next morning as beams of light shone into his chambers, *reflecting off the crown in the faithful glass cabinet that held it*. He *thought back to the events of the previous day* as he *got out of bed* and *began descending the stairs*. He *recalled the vast difference in strength between them* before his last-ditch effort with the roots. It had been close—too close. *As he reached the final step of the staircase, his thoughts were interrupted*. At the bottom of the stairs, he *saw the heavy rock that concealed the archives, cracked in half*. Alarmed, he *rushed downstairs*, fearing more royal treasures might be missing. Upon reaching the archives, he was *relieved to see that all the artifacts were still in place*—the horn, the horse armor, and no vampire.
He *hurried to the spot where he had left the vampire's remains* and *frantically searched the area*. It didn’t take long before he *found the note*. *As he read it, his eyes widened and his fist clenched*. Written in ornate cursive, it said:
Vert *immediately grabbed his chain* and *charged out of the house*. He looked around the outside of the house, the two guards who were on duty *lay dead* both missing their heads.
=== An Unexpected Guest ===
The sun was far past the horizon now, and the croon of weary owls filled the sky. The shine of the moonlight was dim that night, the moon enshrouded by clouds. Vert furrowed his brow; it had been an especially long day, and the paperwork was piling up. He had just responded to an inquiry related to the fourth anniversary of Yimmu-Audal, but the piles of paper he needed to fill in seemed to grow each time a task was completed. *One more,* he thought, *one more, and I can retire to my quarters for the night.* After all, even the late-night drinkers at the tavern had quieted down by this point. The only awake souls in Yvres must have been Vert and the two guards who had recently been permanently stationed outside his house following a string of break-ins. Hiring for the position had been beyond difficult, as the role had already seen two fatalities during the most recent break-in, and very few guards wanted to stay awake all night.
Vert picked up his last sheet of paper, dipping his quill in the pot of ink on his desk. He was halfway through reading the letter—one congratulating Yimmu-Audal on four years—when a commotion broke out downstairs. The sounds of shouting emerged just after the crushing sound of the door breaking. Vert charged down and froze upon seeing the guards approaching the intruders with their weapons drawn. Pieces of the door littered the floor; it had obviously been hit with either great force or speed, and its advanced age was apparent. The door was filled with numerous woodworm. Vert shrugged—he could create a better and sturdier door later.
He turned his head to the guards, who had now backed the intruder—a rather small female Dryad—into a corner. The Dryad was clearly older than Vert, as shown by the expertise she'd demonstrated with the number of roots that surrounded her. They did not look threatening; much the opposite, they encircled the female Dryad, who looked incredibly tired. It was while studying the roots that Vert noticed the look in her eyes. It was not anger nor malice, but fear that filled her face. The guards were about to swing their weapons—a blow that would surely end the fight. Vert yelled loudly, “STAND DOWN.” The guards, shocked at their sudden disarmament, dropped their weapons on the floor. A clatter sounded as they struck the ground, and Vert's attention was momentarily taken away from the Dryad. His eyes darted to the weapons before slowly moving back to her. She approached him with a weak stumble, quietly muttering before collapsing. Vert's eyes widened at the word that had emerged from her lips; he almost collapsed in shock himself. One of the guards looked over in confusion, inquiring, “What did she say?” Vert looked at the guard, still filled with hollow disbelief. She said... “Son.”
Vert sat on a small chair beside his bed. It was a worn-out old one—one of many furnishings that had been brought from the previous world by boat. It creaked as he stood up; the weary joints of the chair, not built to handle a being as big or heavy as Vert, threatened to give out every time he used it. He should probably get a new one, he thought, as he gazed upon the woman who had broken in yesterday and was supposed to be his mother. Her face looked younger and more peaceful in her sleep, devoid of the fear that had stretched across it the last time he had seen her awake. As he looked at her, he mentally noted that she was likely a Shylie—her small size and luscious gray skin were exactly like those of the other Shylie he had seen before. 
It had been a long night. After the woman had collapsed, he had moved her to the bed so she could sleep peacefully, and he had sat there the whole night, half in shock at what she had said just before her collapse, and the rest in concern that she might wake up and something would happen with his guards again. One of the guards stayed at the door despite his protests; they simply couldn’t leave the Emperor alone with an unknown third party, no matter who they claimed to be. Vert thought this was ridiculous—clearly, the guard had been sleeping on the job, and the guest had woken them with her entrance. He reached out to fetch the guard.
Suddenly, the female dryad jolted up, eyes wide as she looked around. "Where am I?" she asked before her gaze settled on Vert. She immediately calmed down, recognizing the one she called her son. Vert looked at her reassuringly. "After you collapsed, I moved you up here. I thought you could use some rest. Why were you so weak when you got here?" She lifted one of her arms slightly, showing a patch of moss that had begun turning red. "I've been fighting this stuff; it's nasty." She opened her mouth, about to explain what it was when Vert suddenly blurted, "Are you really my mum?" 
She looked at him and smiled, nodding. "You look just like I expected, Onyx." Confused, he responded, "I thought my name was Sibirica?" She shook her head and explained, "No, that was just the other members of the group in that cave being stubborn." He curiously asked, "What about Dad?" She sighed, a long, deep sigh. "I'm so sorry. He didn't make it." Vert glanced downward, saddened by the news. "What caused it?" She looked at him kindly, as if she hoped to raise his spirits. "That's simple: he had Decay, and without the help of his tribe, he didn’t survive." Vert subconsciously nodded. "Can you tell me about him?" 
The female dryad took a long breath in, and a light almost shone in her eyes as she recounted the deeds of her late husband. 
"Your father was humongous; he truly embodied the trees his clan named themselves after. Despite this, he didn’t particularly care for his clan or its traditions. After all, if he'd followed their rules, he would have married within the species of Meyderlie. But instead, he stubbornly insisted on changing his name and trying to get the approval of my own clan. Neither clan approved of our union, but we did not care. 
Let me tell you about our clans: my own has a tradition of naming our young after the beautiful rocks around us when we are created. I should probably introduce myself—I am Lapis Sibirica. Your father's clan named their families with one name; they did not get their own names, which is why both clans were angered when we changed our names to include bits from each other's respective clans. He was called Opalescent Sibirica, named after an opal we kept before.
They largely tolerated our feelings for each other—well, it was tolerated until they found our four seedlings, you and your siblings. Filled with anger, they immediately crushed one, but luckily your father was nearby. It’s particularly difficult to move an angered dryad unwillingly, especially one as monstrous as your father. I have never seen him so furious as he was that moment; I barely saw his fist slam into the dryad who did it. They were immediately crushed. He told me to grab you and your siblings. The other dryads were furious about what had happened, but we only had time to grab your brother and your sister. You were snatched by an older dryad; I almost had to pry your father away—he would have killed the whole clan if he needed to. Eventually, we left, banished, and the clan raised you, keeping you as a hostage to hold off your father."
Lapis took a deep breath as she finished telling the tale of her meeting Vert's father. She stayed quiet as Vert processed the huge amount of information he had just been told. At last, he spoke up. "M-My siblings, what are they called?" She looked at him, a ghost of sadness in her eyes as she thought about a clearly painful memory, then she recalled their names. "Well, the first one who was crushed was called Lime, after limestone," she said. "Your brother is called Slate," she continued, "and your sister... is called Apatite." Overwhelmed, Vert slumped into the chair, which at long last gave out under his mass—its legs splintering as they were crushed beneath him, and he found himself on the floor. This did not bother him, though, because now he really could use a nap. He felt the lids of his eyes slump closed just as Lapis called out, "Ony—Vert!"
=== The Corination of the new Emperor~ ===
Vert sat in the church peacefully, having just crowned his successor. He looked forward to the future; he could see only good in both his own future and the future of his nation. In just the past few weeks, he had been reunited with his long-lost biological family. He glanced at the seat beside his, where his family sat. His mother, now cured of the infection that had been overtaking her, *beamed* as she looked around the church. She was, after all, very new to this life. The quirks and eccentricities that he had grown used to were all new to her. *Sat* beside his mother and directly next to Vert was his wife, Lira. Despite suffering from a devastating illness that had left her housebound, she had made an effort to join him for the coronation—what would truly be his last act as Emperor. He *gazed* across the church and saw familiar faces of his many children, whether adopted or in-laws. However, thinking of his children brought up the one topic he hadn't yet resolved: his daughter. Much to his disappointment, it was taking a long time to organize the search party for her, given all the other issues and events happening at the moment.
He *stood* and *began walking* along the streets of Paques before *slumping* into a chair on the side of the road. For what seemed like the millionth time, he *took out* the letter that had been left on the day she had gone missing. He *gazed* blindly at the text, reading it and trying to discern any hidden meanings. He *moved* his large thumb and *spotted* a section of text he had previously missed. It read, "You have two weeks to meet my request." He felt his eyes widen as a pool of dread threatened to overwhelm him. That date had passed a long time ago. Would she even still be alive? Hopeless, he *gazed* at a nearby hill, wishing he could hear his daughter's cry for help. His vision *combed* the trees; it was late autumn, and the leaves were nearly gone. Red, orange, auburn, and a slight speck of teal were visible. His vision continued to wander, *gazing* over the lush green hill. Wait, that wasn't right—teal! His gaze *snapped back* to the spot where he had seen the splash of teal. As he *looked* closer, he noticed it almost looked like a human. No, it was a human; he recognized that color—it was the same as that of his daughter. He *focused* his vision, attempting to magnify what he was seeing, but the color was off, almost as if it were bathed in a red film. A tiny spot of red *grew* over the teal, as if it were getting closer. His eyes *struggled* to focus. The red *filled* his vision, and he thought, "It's going to hit me." He *reached out* to stop it—or at least he intended to; the signal had only just reached his hand. Unfortunately for him, that would be his last thought.
(Vert Cuirassier has passed away.)
=== Revival ===
Slate pushed open the entrance to the basement of the Cuirassier manor, and a wave of dust flew out; nobody had been in there for a long time. As he descended the stairs, he could see a layer of dust was still settled over most of the books in the Curassier library. A sudden creak made him jump as he stepped off of the stairs onto the hardwood floor of the basement, Slate jumped a little before looking down - uncertain the floor could handle his weight. 
He reached out, flipping the page of the logbook open to the most recently changed page, his eyes settled on his scratchy handwriting near the bottom of the page. It read “Preserved Vert Sibirica sapling”. Under this text, he found the location of the sapling and closed the book. It slammed shut with a heavy thump dislodging yet more dust.  
Slate walked over to the box, pulling out a heavy, shining key before unlocking the box. He reached in, pulling out a wrinkled sapling-like form which loosely resembled his late brother, Vert. about half of the wrinkled form was entrenched in moss. Slate lifted it, it didn’t weigh all that much any more, unlike his brother who had weighed several tons.
He quickly climbed the stairs, rushing to the front door which he shoved past, it wobbled slightly. It was still quite delicate since he had broken through it the night he had first come to Villedeboard.  As he turned to the left, the town centre came into view and he could see Lapis stood at the central monument. A look of deep concentration filled her face, beneath her there was an intricate web of what must have been hundreds of thousands, no millions of roots, surrounding a patch of dirt in the centre and wrapping around each other like intricately weaved wires. They each extended out of the town and into the red forest, wrapping around the smaller trees. 
Slate placed his late brother into the patch of dirt in the middle and covered him slightly before extending his roots, significantly bigger and thicker but way fewer into the diseased forest. He wrapped each root around a larger infected tree, feeling the infection immediately attempting to climb them. Suddenly he felt his roots being completely incised and watched as Lapis replaced his roots with her own. He took in a deep breath, about to cry out and demand an explanation as to why she would do this when she was already struggling with the infection from her trees infections. “IS HE READY?” She questioned pouring a significant amount of energy into speaking up while fighting the climbing infection. Slate gave a quick and definitive nod. 
Lapis broke her efforts at once, almost welcoming the infection’s climb up the web of her roots, as if willing it to pass into her. But that was not all she drained, the surge of life energy mingled with the infection as it flowed up her roots and into not her but the dirt patch within which Vert was buried. The energy, a such magnitude, bubbled along her roots and into the ground like a river about to burst its banks. Sped along like a jet engine about to take flight, flooded into the ground like an oil spill into seawater. Such was its majesty.
As the energy flows, the dirt sprouts numerous flowers and grass springs out of the arid bed, along with the rapid growth of a tree, a Sibirica Spruce. Something is wrong, however, what should be green grass and brightly coloured flowers is consumed by a lone shade. A deep, blood-red. Slate watches as the tree shoots up with concern that it has been affected but the moss seems to be green despite his worries. It was roughly thirty minutes later but for Lapis, it felt like Weeks. Energy still flowed down her roots but it was slowed now, calmer - more like a tranquil trickle than the rushing flood it had been previously. The tree was as tall as Slate by this point, it continued growing. It must have been eight foot by the time it stopped, but Lapis was no longer able to see this. She lay on the ground heavily drained from this heavy ordeal. 
The tree stands, grand, for a moment before a sudden creak sounds as it seems to take a humanoid form. Behind it, the remaining red trees wither away completely. Slate looks away from the withering red trees and directly into his brother’s face. His brother’s red-streaked mossy face. Wait- what? Slate drew his naginata immediately. Vert looked lovingly at Slate with something flickering in his eyes “Hey Bro why are you pointing th.” Vert lunged forwards, slate brandished his Naginata at his brother who had just collapsed onto the floor, deeply asleep.
Category:Traveler's Era
Category:Voyager's Era
Category:Castellan
Category:Characters