Visage

Such things, in a way, are a connective thread between The Oblivion of the Plague and the Absol of Pure Nature. An underlying trait which binds the sisters to one another.

Nature is caring, but Nature is harsh. Iife begets life, and begets death, so that life may remain in balance. Such a lesson was hard learned during the Fen Night, as the forces of oblivion washed over the lands of nature, only to grind to a halt within the Shrieking wild. Predators whose sole occupation since time immortal has been the hunt. There was no mercy as the forces fought for inch, by bloody inch through the impassable underbrush that veiled predators, traps, pitfalls, and sheer cliffs. All retreat cut off, most fell prey in the jungles that night... Most.

Living from the blood of fallen allies, Visage clawed and fought for every moment of survival. But his fate was sealed the moment he and his kin left the Glade Veins behind and out of sight. An eerie sense overcame the forlorn visage of oblivion, he was now prey, his time had come. turning a glance behind him, there stood, poised for the kill, a venerable Mirror Dragon, a guise veiling death itself.

Visage made no effort to turn, or ready himself. Death had come, not withering, harrying him to the grave as he saw so many others fall under the Plague of the Mother. No, it would be swift, he would be swept aside by death's wing like chaff from the threshing floor. But rather than death, he saw the shimmering wings of a peace dove pass over him, and the predator's unwavering gaze finally shifted, looking to the bird, and tracking it to a small fae which emerged from the undergrowth without resistance. It seemed even the wilds themselves honored her coming, and the Mirror stood still.


The predator behind Visage gave the Fae's words an appraising frown, as he seemed to judge her proposal for fault. But in the end, the peace dove must be honored...