Hours of despair turned into days of struggle. The heavy loneliness bore down on her far worse than the sun above, or the red moon that hung ominously beside it. She was oblivious to the latter, as Dalamud had made its presence known long after her sight had faded.
Yet there was still a spark of pride within her, a lingering seed of the Deh that drove her toward survival. In the two weeks that followed her separation from her tribe, she scraped by on a feast of insects with an accompaniment of water from a nearby brook. It was a meager existence, but it was all she could do to maintain her strength. If she had been able to sustain herself via gathering or hunting, then she would still be with her fellows, after all.
She now sat beneath the shade of a tree within La Noscea, finding reprieve from the sun's unabashed assault on her naturally fair skin. Still dressed in her tribal garb, the 14-year-old miqo'te plucked absently at the grass, her lilac tail curled listlessly around her left ankle. Her long hair was a tangled mess, but she found little point in grooming it. These days, she held only the dual priorities of living, and finding a purpose within it all.
Yet it was on that day that everything changed. The descent of Dalamud had arguably changed all of Eorzea, and it seemed that D'ranmaia would not be spared this fate. The ground rifted with large crackles of aether, tearing at the landscape in a hitherto unknown force of disruption. She clumsily clambered to her feet, pressing her palm against the bark of the tree for aid, as the ground continued to shake beneath her unsteady footing. Even with a lack of sight, she could hear and feel the deafening explosions that tore around her, both arms lifting in a reflexive recoil to shield her face. To her great misfortune, the noise and distortion left her stunned and cowering, completely confused and terrified as to what was going on around her.
Her red eyes watered in their vantage beyond her arms, flinching closed as she expected the next great detonation to end her.
Yet there was still a spark of pride within her, a lingering seed of the Deh that drove her toward survival. In the two weeks that followed her separation from her tribe, she scraped by on a feast of insects with an accompaniment of water from a nearby brook. It was a meager existence, but it was all she could do to maintain her strength. If she had been able to sustain herself via gathering or hunting, then she would still be with her fellows, after all.
She now sat beneath the shade of a tree within La Noscea, finding reprieve from the sun's unabashed assault on her naturally fair skin. Still dressed in her tribal garb, the 14-year-old miqo'te plucked absently at the grass, her lilac tail curled listlessly around her left ankle. Her long hair was a tangled mess, but she found little point in grooming it. These days, she held only the dual priorities of living, and finding a purpose within it all.
Yet it was on that day that everything changed. The descent of Dalamud had arguably changed all of Eorzea, and it seemed that D'ranmaia would not be spared this fate. The ground rifted with large crackles of aether, tearing at the landscape in a hitherto unknown force of disruption. She clumsily clambered to her feet, pressing her palm against the bark of the tree for aid, as the ground continued to shake beneath her unsteady footing. Even with a lack of sight, she could hear and feel the deafening explosions that tore around her, both arms lifting in a reflexive recoil to shield her face. To her great misfortune, the noise and distortion left her stunned and cowering, completely confused and terrified as to what was going on around her.
Her red eyes watered in their vantage beyond her arms, flinching closed as she expected the next great detonation to end her.
