Miraena

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Miraena
Status:	Alive
Race:	Human
Gender:	Female
Location:	Unknown

You see Messenger Miraena, Voice of the Heralds of Elanthia, a Human.
Miraena has a heart-shaped face, sparkling gold eyes and a small nose. Her mouse brown hair is short and wavy. She has rosy skin and a plump figure.
She is tall for a Human.
She appears to be young.
She is in good shape.

She is holding an oak peasant's walking stick in her right hand.
She is wearing a craftsman's satchel, a homespun blue wool cap, a burlap tunic layered under a weathered leather vest, some burlap workman's pants and some weathered leather sandals with burnished brass buckles.

Story by Miraena

Originally posted to [Discord] on August 13, 2024, relating to the Magic Surges & Wild Magic event.

Miraena sat on the low bed in the small room she had rented in Gaethrend's Court, her fingers moving with care as she withdrew a few delicate blue irises from the crate beside her. Each flower was a symbol of hope, a gift she had grown herself in the once-fertile fields of her village. As she wrapped them in a soft cloth and placed them in her satchel, her heart grew heavier. The irises were meant to be handed out to those who pledged to forsake sorcery, but the flowers in her crate were still many, their numbers barely diminished since her arrival in Crossing. The weight of that reality pressed on her—she had not given out nearly as many as she had hoped. The adventurers, with all their power and prestige, had largely ignored her pleas, and in some cases had responded with scorn or outright violence!

The memory of that attack lingered in her mind. One adventurer had grown so enraged by her message that he had lashed out at her. Yet, to her astonishment, the attacks that should have killed her many times over had done practically nothing. The Heralds, those beings of incomprehensible power who had graced her with their vision, had protected her. It was a blessing she hadn't expected, but one that yet again confirmed the gravity of her mission.

Miraena thought of the farmers who grew the wheat that became the bread on their tables, the bakers who labored over the sweet cupcakes they enjoyed, the herders who raised the cows that provided leather for their armor. These were the everyday people who were bearing the brunt of the rampant use of sorcery, their lives upended by forces beyond their control. These adventurers, who wielded such immense influence over the world, seemed blind to their suffering. She had seen this devastation in her own village: crops withering under skies that never delivered rain, vortexes of light and wind demolishing their homes, herds of animals dying with no cause, and the land itself turning against its people.

In one of her most desperate moments, the Heralds had granted Miraena a vision of what was to come if sorcery continued unchecked—a world in ruins, where once-thriving villages were reduced to ashes, and families torn apart. Adventurers, with their arcane knowledge and near-supernatural abilities, did not understand the true cost of each and every use of sorcery. Miraena had believed that showing them the plight of the everyday people would be enough, that they would see reason and change their ways. But, as Asildu had schooled her the evening before, words alone might not prove sufficient. The adventurers were clearly entrenched in their ways, despite the world being on the brink of calamity.

Miraena tightened the straps on her satchel, her resolve slowly hardening. She could not allow herself to give in to despair, not after she had traveled so far, and when so much was at risk. Her family, her home. The families and homes of every commoner in Crossing and beyond. It was all at risk. With renewed determination, Miraena rose to her feet, the satchel of irises clutched tightly in her hand. If she and Asildu could not convince them by making them look at the world around them, perhaps more drastic measures would be needed.