Arael Scin

Arael Scin was born 52 years after the Great Winter in the small forgotten town of Tarrin, located near Altundes. Being raised in the mountainous regions of Karavokrin meant he had little contact with the outside world. He had originally fallen in love with an elf named Xtal while he was in Arael’s town under the guise of a traveler to scope it out for his group of raiders. These bandits eventually launched an attack on it. Arael was wounded and left for dead in the wilderness during this event.

After the raid he was left with extreme paranoia and trust issues. He now travels taking odd jobs within various mercenary groups to distance himself from what happened while simultaneously searching for Xtal out of some sort of desire for vengeance.

## Short Fiction

“…”

“…….Serenity……”

"……….”

ZZZZZZT

The sound of a speeding bullet disturbs a sleeping coyote. It looks around it’s surroundings, confused and alert. Lying on the forest floor next to it is a man with a hole in his neck atop a crimson pool. snap Out of instinct, the coyote runs off deep into the forest after a foot crushes a nearby branch. “Damn,” a gruff voice calls out. A figure donned in a dirt-stained brown cloak walks toward the body. “Was hoping I could talk to him before he left at least.” The gray-feathered tengu mutters to himself as he inspects the lifeless corpse. “There we are!”, he exclaims proudly as he plucks a silver stopwatch from one of the mans pockets. On the back of the watch is an engraving reading “To Arael, with love.”

The lingering smell of smoke compels Arael to leave, remembering he wasn’t far from city limits. Even if the man was a thief, the Tengu was far from justified in killing him. He quickly took out a glass flask with small shining stones and meticulously placed one into the mans clasped palm. “I’m really sorry about this.” He passingly remarked to the body before walking off. Arael had never had much luck being in cities, but on the other hand he hated living in the middle of nowhere. Something between a mercenary and a bounty hunter, he found himself taking odd jobs whenever necessary; ammunition does cost money after all. Wandering around was a preferable way of living, setting up temporary vantage points for cover and the upper-hand in any troublesome scenarios that should come his way. Cool wind blew on his feathers while he sat within a makeshift shelter built into a large tree, the moonlight subtly reflecting off the polished metal barrel of his arquebus. He pays special attention to properly maintaining his weapons of choice, both because a clean gun is a reliable one, as well as the fact it was a gift.

Surrounded by tally marks, a small heart is etched into the wooden stock of the rifle, the space within it saved for someone special. The only way for Arael to feel comfortable is when he believes he has control over the situation. This usually comes from being undetected by a target, which is not a hard task for him. Being just out of sight in the distance is exactly where Arael is most confident, a shot lined up, the serene calm before the storm, and the lingering silence after his bullet pierces the air. There's just a certain relief from it that comes so rarely to Arael, as most of the time he cant help but feel paranoid of his surroundings. The howling of a nearby wolf makes him flinch, and soon enough a series of memories races through his mind.  Home. Howling. Vermilion stained snow. A searing pain contrasting with the shocking cold. Looking up for the last time at the hollow shell of someone he once loved. Arael shudders.

“C-cc-calm.”

He’ll find Xtal, he knows he will.

“R-repose”

He settles his nerves by controlling his breathing in between words

“…”

Arael stares at the moonlight gently cascading through the tree branches for a moment before hastily returning to polishing his machine.

“Serenity.”