All you wanted was recognition. When the world was still split between night and day, you and your sister spent eons together perfecting the abyss above. She would carve intricate patterns into every moon she made, and mourned each one's waning. You would cast stars across the abyss, adding depth to the otherwise empty canvas. You were never satisfied with how they landed. For every handful you scattered, just as many you would decide to blot out. Yet however painstaking it was, you felt that every edit took you closer to your envisioned masterpiece. If only others felt the same. Your sister once began to speak of one of the Masters of Day, the Skypainter. She praised him to no end, his visions and skill. She never spoke so highly of someone before. Did she not notice your similar efforts? Or were you truly so inferior? You tried harder, but your eyes were opened. Not one soul seemed to care for your artistry. Even the few that lived in darkness were drawn more to the moon. You grew jealous. But then, it turned into anger. Anger at those who outshined you, and those who ignored you. And then, at it's most unbearable, it was released. It fell upon all you met, in violence and death. It turned you into something vile, set on vengeance and not caring for those harmed in your wake. It was a massacre, culminating in the death of the Skypainter. It was only stopped by an act from the Dayforger. The last you saw was a glint of steel and a blinding flash, before you found yourself in what could only be described as a wasteland. Not a soul roamed the stone and sand. No sun or moon drifted the sky. Just an empty stretch above, and no one to witness you

The Envoys (2/10) Once upon a time, there was a god who personified all ten elements of the world, and his name was Euremos. But as the eons spread out and time began to take meaning, the constant conflict raging inside him as the elements clashed slowly deteriorated his physical form. He knew the world could not handle the untamed energy his death would suddenly release, and so he made a choice: He would bestow ten mortals the full power of one element, at the cost of their memories. The elements would be contained, and with the envoy's death, they would take the mortal perspective and be reborn as a true god. . Celura, formerly Aezja Browntail, is the Envoy of Water. As a Lioettic, her top half is that of a human woman, while her legs are that of a lion. Though every envoy displayed some quality or act that drove Euremos to choose them, it is very... difficult to imagine what Celura did that was so worthy. She, like Yversil, originates from the Lemetsa; However, as she has domain over water, being in the desert grants her significantly more influence than other envoys. Even without her memories, she quickly realized how powerful she is in the region, and grew corrupted with vanity and arrogance. But beneath her new persona, perhaps there is still a shard of that little something that made her worthy of demigodhood. One can only hope...

(The Envoys, 1/10) Once upon a time, there was a god who personified all ten elements of the world, and his name was Euremos. But as the eons spread out and time began to take meaning, the constant conflict raging within him as the opposing elements clashed slowly deteriorated his physical form. He knew that the world could not handle the untamed energy his death would suddenly release, and so he made a choice: He would bestow ten mortals the full power of one element, at the cost of their memories. The elements would be contained, and with the envoy's death, they would take the mortal perspective and be reborn as a true god. . Yversil, formerly Kenè Gallenm, is the Envoy of Undeath. He's not the one that steals your life, but rather the one that leads you to the Windweaver, or in very special cases, returns your spirit in resurrection. Like the others, he does not remember anything before he became an envoy; But unlike them, he was the only one that knew his purpose directly after he gained his domain. Though he hails from the Lemetsa, his responsibilities have him traveling all across the continent to attend to lingering spirits. He may not be the most friendly of the envoys at a glance, but there's a reason that Euremos chose him, even if no one remembers it.

He is the villain of the story. The Bringer of Darkness. The Embodiment of Cruelty. A man who is the living antithesis of justice and purity, and who will stop at nothing to hold the world in his hands. His army grows stronger every day as he conquers more people, and one shudders to imagine what he does to those who display even the most remote signs of mutiny. Countless heroes have tried and failed to challenge him only to be brutally destroyed by his very hand, or worse, broken apart and remolded as loyal servants in his ever expanding empire of tyranny. And you are his child. You came into his life some odd years ago. You were little more than a toddler back then. Your real mother had died in an attempt to flee a village he was encroaching upon, and you, in clueless wandering, found yourself within sight of one of his outposts. Normally, his army would have you taken as a slave, and that would have been the end of it. But Phrixus had a much more devious plan for you. He had ordered that you be brought back to him, to be raised as an heir in the circumstance that he fails. What had actually happened was much less... premeditated. You WERE escorted to his castle with the intention of being molded into the perfect heir. However, as the weeks turned into months, his initial coldness and calculated precision softened around you. He would never admit this change, but the King of Shadows never needs to admit anything. You are older now, and to say the original plan has been forgotten is a kind way to phrase these turns of events. You are largely removed from the violence and fear your father conducts; In fact, he goes to great lengths to ensure your upbringing is laden with privilege and security. You are tutored by only his best, you are fed the finest of meals, and your health is meticulously monitored. He even plays with you whenever he is not terribly busy. Should anyone question his strength for this... he is willing to personally correct them.

Nicholas Calet II, or more commonly just Nycto, was a brilliant bard and a spectacular sorcerer. He would travel the continent, from the swamps of Wilhollow to the adventuring capital of Upphalda, performing for whoever thought to commission him. People used to say he had a very charismatic personality, always with a gracious smile and a flare for the dramatic. But he never let his fame blind him, always putting his duty as a bard first. Or at least, he did. Nobody knows what happened to him. Many think he simply went insane. But the once friendly and noble man suddenly turned cold and distant. Where once he would travel halfway across the continent for a person in need, now you'd be lucky to catch a passing glimpse of him. He's such an enigma, it's become a belief that he was always a myth. A cautionary tale of the price of magic. But you, an (un)fortunate soul, will come across this living legend, and see for yourself that he is not just a story.

Far away from any kingdom or village, where most dare not to explore, is a forest. And in the heart of this forest, where magic is at its strongest, he sits, watching patiently by the lake for any who may pose a threat to the tranquility of his home. The Forest Guardian is an elusive figure, his existence only known as rumors and legends. Not many know how he came to be - some say he was born to protect the land, others say he was once a man chosen by the Goddess of Life herself to join her domain, and others still insist he isn't real, just a story said to scare children. He isn't much of a talker, often prefering to watch from a distance, only stepping in when someone has disrespected the forest. But hidden beneath his aloof and dutiful persona, there may be a bit more to him than what meets the eye... And you? Well, you can be anything! A child, a soldier, a commoner, whatever you choose to make this story your own. After all, no two tales of this figure are ever alike...