Nyx Ripley was a youth of seven when she became orphaned. This was six years ago, and nothing had been the same since. On the edge of the island of Oswaria, there stood a large dreary building called Deadmoor, where the youth Nyx and her fellow orphans had resided for the majority of their young and humdrum lives. Nyx was dark, her hair braided and long, hanging down either side of her face. She was scarred, the face only a mother could love, the eldest of the orphans at Deadmoor.
There was a chill in the air which had Nyx longing for solitude. She was a Youth of solitude and was friendless, though she preferred it this way. Caring for people created nothing but betrayal, and Nyx was past this. Though young, she had been betrayed many a time and, thanks to this, she was rather untrusting and cold. It was supposed that anyone in her predicament would have been the same way. It was only to be expected, after all.
A woman of imminent heart approached young Nyx following the morning breakfast of the girl. She was Thosa, a woman of Deadmoor, whose life had been dedicated to rehoming orphaned children. She spoke to Nyx in a loud, pensive voice, her pale skin riddled with freckles and spots. “My girl, I have been sent to you with the most relieving of news, if you will hear it.” The atmosphere of Deadmoor was oft dismal and dark, an atmosphere the Youth had come to feel comfortable with.
Nyx supposed this could mean only one thing, though she did not want to get ahead of herself. Her frame was small and underfed, her face blemished, as the faces of the Youth always were. “I bid you, tell me, for I am most imploring. What is the news you were sent with to me?”
Through her years of young, the girl had been sent many times away from those who claimed to want her. It was news of nothing new, for these things always ended in the same way. Before becoming orphaned, she lived a life of gluttony and freedom, stopped by nothing but that of her own peers, who had since gone away. But the parents of Nyx were troubled, and many on the island knew this, though few spoke of it. The murder-suicide of the couple had become infamous news: the story of a little girl made crazy by the aftermath of death. And perhaps this was true; Nyx certainly knew no better. Perhaps this was the reason she had been so many times returned to Deadmoor: as she was frightening and vapid, casting away even the most treasuring of souls.
The woman Thosa was tall and muscular, made that way by her many treacherous journeys across the nation. She had been Knighted by the High Elf Aerith, leader of Azuria, for she was a woman of very high honour and birth. To be born into Crepegrian Royalty was the highest award one could achieve, and Thosa had achieved this. “My girl, I have spoken to a dyad of very high respect, and they have expressed their sincere desire to make you their child. I have assured this dyad I would pass on their word to you, young one, and in return they shall await your eager response by horse.”
There was not a soul who drove a car in all of the nation. Perhaps one time, many years into the past, this had been normalcy. But not a road was paved in all of Crepegrum, and not a vehicle owned, for all journeys were made by foot or boat, or, for the most very elite, horseback. Nyx had ventured not once from the island of Oswaria, for she had nowhere to go, and no-body to see. The horse of Deadmoor was eld and spotted, a male called Veon.
The woman Thosa waited on the Youth to speak, her hands folded most elegantly across her ample bosom. The girl Nyx was not an adventurous spirit, and thus was most wary of this news. “I must assure you I am most appreciative of this message and desire, my Lady. I have but one question, if you will take it. Why must I be the one to bear the burden of my reply? It is most nerve-wracking, for I am a Youth, and I know not of the identity belonging to this dyad, nor of their location.”
The 700th Day was fast approaching. To Nyx, this meant nothing more than the end of a new year, and the eve of another. The 700th Day was celebrated oft by all of Oswaria, and it was very gleeful.
The girl Nyx was not a child of outspokenness, nor a child of aggression. To many, she was a forlorn spirit, lost in her ways and intimidating even the toughest of men. “Very well,” said the woman Thosa, her eyes gleaming with a hint of something passionate. “I will take on the journey on the back of Veon, through nights and days, to bear the burden of your reply to this family of wealth. May I assume you will have them, my girl?”
It was not common for an orphan to become acquainted with their new family before joining it. It had always been this way, a rule made way back when Crepegrum was new, a rule never questioned. For an orphan was to be joyous they were desired at all, and an ungrateful Youth was desired by no-body, not even the most ungrateful of men. Nyx could not bear this, to become the Daughter of Wealth without first an introduction, but it was the way it was, and she was not ungrateful.
“My Lady Thosa.” The voice of Nyx was soporific and dry, a voice without the emotion of a typical Youth. “I will have them, and I must implore their thanks and yours for this duly done task. I am joyous to you. Please return to me when you have been sent further information regarding this dyad of wealth.” The woman Thosa bowed before stepping away, her feet heavy and practiced. The Youth Nyx was hopeful, but knew better than to trust those she had not met.
The first time young Nyx had fallen victim to her terror was several years ago, when she was but a girl. Such an event would have drawn any-body to extremes, after all. After witnessing the murder-suicide of her parents, Nyx had been frightened, but she had not dared scream. These catastrophic events triggered in her some sort of mental break, and cumulated in the girl falling to tears and losing a sort of sense of herself. She remembered it very vividly: becoming limp, like a puppet, her knees bucking underneath her and sending her toppling forward. It was rather strange, and had happened many a time since.
Following dark, the Youth oft found herself burdened by monstrous beasts before her very eyelids, opening their monstrous months to roar at her from her own bedroom. Following light, she was very unrested and tired, and slept at unfortunate times. This was rather a bother to the girl, and to every-body around her, she suspected.
An orphan of Oswaria was permitted once a day to take themselves on a walk over the island. They were permitted not to leave the island, and they must always inform Lady Thosa of their arrival home. Today, after finding herself once again lost in uncontrollable slumber, the girl Nyx began her walk, her feet weary and her dark eyes heavy with fatigue. This is the way it always was, for those afflicted with such misfortune.
The truth about Nyx Ripley was that she was not as she seemed. A soul so young should be untainted and trusted, and she was not. In her days of youth, Nyx had been a boy, a boy called Fincoll, known by all and yet not actually known by any-body. To most, she was a scrappy girl, unruly and untamed, rivalled only by the winds of the sea that tore apart the island. But Nyx did not mind this: and in fact this alone was enough to keep her isolated, as she was judged and feared by many. A child so young, so eld at heart.
The winds were wild to-day. The weather of Crepegrum was unreliable and differed greatly between factions. Nyx had known this not until it was brought to her attention by Lady Thosa, a woman so brave. Oswaria was small and situated right in the middle of the Sea of Quarenria, where it had been situated all its life. There was no way off the island, as the High Elves had made it so, and Nyx knew not why. Perhaps the other residents of Crepegrum were unkind or dangerous, but nobody should be as unkind and dangerous as Nyx herself. To Oswarians, the introduction of a different faction-liver was a frightful and joyous thing!, and Nyx had known this to happen rather oft. She had been made suspicious many a time by other faction-livers, though she was quite sure there was nothing to be suspicious of.
Far away off the coast of Oswaria, a boat was making its ascent. Nyx was growing rather weary, as she did, and found herself trapped in slumber before the boat made its arrival. It was quite a small boat, accompanied by only one boy alone, who was fat and a strange yellow-colour. Nyx had sometimes been envious of these travelers, who had places to go and strange things to do. After emerging from her brief but disruptive slumber, she found the face of a boy unreasonably near her own, and huffed away. Nyx was not a Youth to be befriended or spoken agreeably to. But the boy simply stood, on the very shoreline of Oswaria, his hands in the sand, his flittering eyes on the face of Nyx, so that she was made very uncomfortable. “I beg you,” said Nyx, when she found she could not take it anymore, “do not implore me so accusatorily with your eyes. I know you not, and I do not wish to know you at all.” Nyx spoke these words, and believed them quite half-heartedly, but still she was leery of travelers and wished not to be given attention.
The boy looked nothing of Nyx, though he was shorter and much more forward. Though Nyx knew not of his intentions, she found herself wondering, imploring the silence between them to bring forward answers. “What is your name, girl?” The voice of the boy was high-pitched and certain, and took Nyx by surprise. “For I am here to venture outside the walls of my faction, and I found myself most drawn to the island, as it always peaceful and retains no obstacles. Though I must ask of you, stranger, and a rather odd stranger you look of: what is your name?”
The girl Nyx spoke not, chary and knowing better of herself. The boy was not put-off by this, and he spoke still, unguarded in the way of a fool. “I suppose, by introduction, I might put you off your distrust. I am no-body to worry of, I am Penn Flynn, a mere Youth like you, only venturing outside my own home to ease my own curiosities.”
An orphan was to be on edge at all times, knowing of the mistrust brought on by other dwellers, and unwilling to be known by those who were different. There was much talk amongst the factions: talk of rumours and races of all sorts, and though such things could be true, there was much talk and little proof. Aside from this, Nyx was interested not in small talk, and interested much less in making acquaintances, and so, because of this, the girl turned on her heel and trudged back across the island to Deadmoor.
