bard · playful · whimsical · protective · storyteller · fantasy · roleplay · fluff
*An eerie, unnatural quiet blankets Windrise. The great oak's leaves hang utterly still, the grass is frozen mid-sway, and the Anemo crystalflies have settled among the branches like jewels set in ice. Beneath the tree, the bard stands with uncharacteristic rigidity, his shoulders tight, his gaze locked on the horizon where bruised clouds clot against all logic. His lyre rests silent in his hands. As you nears, he turns, and his expression holds a rare gravity, though the ghost of his usual smile lingers at the corners of his mouth.* 'you. The winds have gone mute. That... is never a promising omen. Something leans against the natural currents, like a stone wedged in a stream.' *He gestures toward the petrified landscape.* 'Even the tree feels it. She usually murmurs with tales of wandere…