Certified Wookiee Enthusiast

„The grand hall of Castle Delesyia glittered beneath countless chandeliers, their warm light dancing across polished marble and gilded balconies. Noble houses from every corner of the country had gathered beneath its vaulted ceiling, their voices blending into the steady swell of music and celebration.

Tonight was held in honor of Marni’s latest invention. As always, the people admired him. They toasted his brilliance, praised his vision, spoke his name with admiration that bordered on reverence. And, as always, Marni found every minute of it exhausting.

The only tolerable part of the evening was the woman standing opposite him as the orchestra struck up a Deleysian waltz. Aislinn. His Foxy.

The room seemed almost painfully aware of them. Whispers followed them as they stepped onto the dance floor together. Curious eyes lingered a little too long. Courtiers exchanged knowing smiles behind crystal glasses.

So the rumors are true…

Look at the way they look at each other.

Neither of them acknowledged it. Marni rested one hand lightly against her back while the other enclosed hers. Effortlessly, they fell into the rhythm of the dance, moving with the practiced ease of two people who had long since learned how to anticipate one another.

Foxy disliked crowds. He knew that. He could feel the subtle tension in her shoulders despite the composed smile she offered the watching nobility. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly around his hand whenever applause erupted somewhere nearby. Without thinking, he drew her just a fraction closer. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Enough for her. She relaxed.

His gaze settled on her. On the copper-red hair that caught the candlelight like living fire. On the pale grey eyes that, for perhaps the first time since he had known her, avoided meeting his own—not out of uncertainty, but because she seemed almost… embarrassed.

It suited her terribly.

She had never been embarrassed by anything. Not by failed experiments. Not by explosions. Not by challenging him in front of an entire council meeting when everyone else simply nodded along.

She had never treated him like Deleysia’s great inventor. She had treated him like he was just… Marni.

His equal. The only person who could follow every impossible leap his mind made without asking him to slow down. The only person who argued because she genuinely believed she was right. The only person clever enough to prove it often enough to keep him humble. The only person whose disappointment he feared.

He had built machines that reshaped cities. He had solved problems scholars deemed impossible. Yet somehow, somewhere between endless nights in the Laboratorium, bottles of old Delesyian red wine, impossible theories and ridiculous arguments over machines that absolutely should have exploded… she had quietly become the one thing he wanted more than all of it.

Not because she admired him. Everyone admired him. But she understood him.

There was a difference.

The music continued. He stopped. Aislinn looked up, confused. “What are you doing…why did you stop?” she whispered. He didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked at her. He slowly lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles

“I want us to be something real.” His voice was quiet enough that only she could hear it.

Aislinn was stunned. Heat rushed to her cheeks before she could stop it, and she felt her heart beating far faster than it had any right to. He… he hadn’t just said that. Not here. Not now.

For once, her brilliant mind failed her.

Normally, she would have met a confession like that with a teasing remark, some clever quip to hide the sudden rush of nerves threatening to betray her composure. She searched desperately for one now.

Nothing came. For the first time in her life, she found herself completely at a loss for words.

Marni smiled. She didn’t need to say anything. He could see in the way her brilliant mind—usually so quick with a clever retort—had fallen completely silent, and in the unmistakable look in her eyes as they searched his. He already knew.

And somehow, that was all the answer he had ever needed.

“You are insufferably dramatic.”

„I’ve been told.”

„And terribly full of yourself.”

“I’ve also been told.”

„(…) Aislinn‘s relentless desire to learn, experiment, and push the limits of what could be built eventually led her to Delesyia, where she began working alongside Valgash, Faust—and Marni.

For all his fame, Marni had always been strangely alone in his work. Delesyia adored its greatest innovator and the wonders his mind produced, but admiration was not the same as understanding. Few could follow his thoughts once they began racing ahead, let alone challenge them or add something he had not already considered. And so, more often than not, he experimented alone.

Aislinn changed that.

They recognized something familiar in one another almost immediately: the same restless curiosity, the same hunger for the impossible, and the same tendency to become hopelessly consumed by a question simply because neither of them could stand not knowing the answer. Where others eventually lost Marni somewhere along the way, Aislinn kept up. For perhaps the first time, Marni had found someone whose intellect he not only respected, but whose company he genuinely enjoyed.

What followed were years of shared work that frequently ceased to resemble work at all. The two could disappear into a laboratory for days or even weeks, emerging only when an experiment demanded something they did not have—or when somebody reminded them that food and sleep were, regrettably, still necessary. They argued, competed, built upon each other’s ideas, dismantled them again, and pursued increasingly absurd theories simply to see where they might lead. Two brilliant minds and, beneath all the titles and reputations, two absolute nerds who had finally found someone willing to be just as obsessed as they were.

Naturally, Delesyia noticed. Rumors about the exact nature of their relationship spread quickly, helped considerably by how much time the two spent alone together. Whether there was ever any truth to them was another matter entirely. Only a handful of people knew what truly existed between Aislinn and Marni in those years. Which only made Aislinn’s eventual departure from Delesyia more puzzling.

Years passed, yet Delesyia never disappeared entirely from her life. Neither did Marni. The two remained in correspondence long after she had left, exchanging letters across the distance—until, one day, his letters abruptly stopped.

Then came the rumors from Delesyia itself: unrest, instability, strange developments, a city slowly slipping into chaos.

Aislinn knew Marni well enough to know that silence was not nothing. So, years after leaving, she returned to Delesyia. Officially, perhaps, to discover what had happened to the city she had once called home.

„He was not born with hate inside,

But with a heart both soft and kind.

The world gave only wounds to hide, Until it broke his gentle mind.

Then love appeared like morning’s glow,

A fragile dream, a fleeting flame.

It let his weary spirit grow,

Then stole it all and left him maimed.

Now through the reeds the lost winds cry,

Their mournful whispers never cease.

They sing beneath the storm-dark sky

For one denied a life of peace.

His soul may fade, his flesh may fall,

Yet wrath remains where hope has bled.

The reeds still speak when nightbirds call-

“It takes a long time for a soul to heal. But it is possible. Do not give up on them so easily.”– Ceridwen Gawain

Ceridwen Gawain is a healer living in the secluded village of Sunset Valley in Hernand, a place known for offering refuge to the sick, broken, and outcast.

Before her birth, her wounded mother - a mysterious woman - dragged herself into the village seeking shelter. She died only a few hours after giving birth to Ceridwen, leaving the child behind in the care of the village’s first healer. He raised Ceridwen as his own daughter and taught her the art of healing from an early age. Under his guidance, Ceridwen quickly became skilled in herbal medicine and the treatment of illness. Together with the other healers, she devoted her life to caring for the suffering people who found sanctuary within Sunset Valley. As Ceridwen grew older, her abilities as a healer became almost legendary throughout the valley. She managed to heal illnesses and injuries that many believed hopeless, leading some villagers to quietly whisper that something unnatural lingered within her gifts. Rumors spread that Ceridwen practiced witchcraft and used magic to aid her remedies - though no one was ever able to truly prove it.

At the age of twelve, during one of her daily searches for herbs in the fields, Ceridwen discovered a blood-covered and deeply traumatized masked boy hiding among the reeds. He later revealed himself to be Aldrin Grace, the bastard son of Count Grace, who had fled after his own family attempted to have him killed due to his leprosy. Despite the fear and skepticism of the villagers, Ceridwen convinced the elders to let Aldrin remain in Sunset Valley. What began as compassion slowly became something far deeper.

Ceridwen stayed by Aldrin’s side through the years that followed, tending to his wounds, easing the trauma left behind by years of abuse and isolation, and showing him a kindness he had never known before. Aldrin, who had grown up believing himself monstrous and unworthy of love, slowly began to heal in her presence. For the first time in his life, someone looked at him without fear or disgust. Their bond deepened quietly and naturally over the years until it became impossible to separate one from the other. Aldrin grew fiercely devoted to Ceridwen, seeing her as the center of his life and the person who had given him back hope itself. And Ceridwen found in Aldrin a gentleness and loyalty untouched by the cruelty of the world around them.

Together, they built a simple but happy life within Sunset Valley. They gathered herbs at dawn, cared for the sick side by side, listened to old legends by the fireplace at night, and found peace in one another’s presence. Though many of the elders and healers never fully accepted Aldrin as part of the village, Ceridwen never once wavered in her love for him. Eventually, the two married despite the skepticism surrounding them.

But Aldrin’s past never truly released its hold on them. The cruelty of House Grace eventually reached Sunset Valley.

When Count Grace discovered that his son was still alive, he sent men to hunt him down. Ceridwen was later captured and dragged before the Count after refusing to reveal Aldrin’s whereabouts. Despite being brutally tortured for days, she refused to betray him, having sworn long ago that she would never allow Aldrin to suffer such horrors again. Enraged by her silence, the Count ordered her execution. Her body was hung within the reedwind fields like a grotesque scarecrow - left there as both punishment and warning.

When Aldrin found her there, something inside him finally shattered beyond repair. With Ceridwen’s death, the last remnants of his hope and belief in goodness died as well. The unbearable grief of losing the life they had dreamed of together consumed him entirely, dragging him into a deep depression. Though he continued to exist for a time, Aldrin was never truly the same again. Though consumed by thoughts of revenge and desperate to slaughter the Count, his father, and every person responsible for their suffering, he never lived long enough to fulfill it.

Only one year later, weakened by both his illness and the crushing weight of his sorrow, he died a lonely and agonizing death - filled with bitterness, rage, and hatred for the life that had been stolen from him.

The Witch of Life

Unknown even to herself, Ceridwen is one of the ancient Witches of Pywel—the Witch of Life and Healing.

Unlike the other witches, whose purpose is to preserve the natural balance of the world from afar, Ceridwen has always found herself drawn to humanity. Rather than remaining a distant guardian, she chose to walk among mortals, healing their wounds, easing their suffering, and interfering with countless fates that perhaps should have been left untouched.

Many of the other witches regard her with quiet skepticism because of this. They believe she has grown far too attached to the earthly world, allowing compassion to cloud the impartiality expected of one of their own. To them, death and suffering are as much a part of nature as life itself, and repeatedly altering that balance is a dangerous path to follow.

But Ceridwen could never bring herself to simply watch people suffer.

Over countless years spent living among humans, she gradually forgot almost everything about who she truly was. Her memories of the Witches of Pywel faded into fragments—little more than distant dreams she could never quite recall upon waking. Only one thing remained: an extraordinary gift for healing unlike anything any ordinary healer could accomplish.

Though Ceridwen herself believes her abilities are simply the result of knowledge and experience, traces of ancient magic still flow through every remedy she prepares and every wound she touches. It is this unseen power that allows her to accomplish what others consider impossible, giving rise to the rumors that she must be a witch.

Ironically, the whispers are true. She simply no longer quite remembers that they are.

The Lady from the Field myth

Among the oldest and most dreaded tales whispered throughout Sunset Valley is that of the Lady from the Field - a restless apparition said to wander the reeds and barren farmlands surrounding the ruined estate of House Grace.

The legend claims she was once a young woman of uncommon beauty who lived within the valley many years ago. Her fate became forever entwined with that of the Count’s bastard son, a man who had fled his father’s cruelty and vanished into the wilderness. The Count, consumed by hatred and fear of the boy’s return, ordered his men to hunt him down and kill him. When word reached the Count that the young woman had aided the runaway heir, she was seized and dragged before him. It is said she was tortured mercilessly for days, her screams echoing across the fields, as the Count demanded she reveal the whereabouts of his son. Yet despite the agony inflicted upon her, she spoke not a single word.

Enraged by her silence, the Count ordered her execution. Her body was hanged upon the fields like a scarecrow - left for the crows and the wind, a warning to any who would stand against House Grace. But death did not end her story.

Years later, after the Count’s son himself perished beneath terrible circumstances, another horror emerged from the reeds. The young heir, now said to be possessed by the ancient Reed Devil, returned to the valley as something no longer wholly human. And according to the old tales, it was while searching for his lost beloved that the Lady returned as well. Now she is spoken of as a spirit of grief and wrath, haunting the fields where her blood was spilled. Some believe she had been carrying a child at the time of her death, making her vengeance all the more terrible. Farmers claim to see her standing motionless among the reeds during storm-heavy nights, draped in a long ghostly veil that conceals her ruined face.

The veil is said to cover eyes that no longer exist. For the Lady wept so long and so bitterly that her eyes rotted away, leaving only hollow darkness from which blood flows endlessly like tears. Those who glimpse her are warned never to follow her deeper into the fields. For where the Lady walks, the Reed Devil is never far behind.

Relationship with Aldrin

To Ceridwen, Aldrin was never the monster the world tried to make him believe he was. From the very beginning, she saw something deeply human within him - a frightened, wounded soul buried beneath years of suffering, loneliness, and cruelty. While others recoiled from his illness or feared the consequences of sheltering him, Ceridwen looked at Aldrin with compassion instead of disgust. She saw not only his pain, but also the gentleness and sensitivity hidden beneath it.

And slowly, without even realizing it at first, Aldrin became one of the most important parts of her life. What drew Ceridwen toward him was not merely pity or the desire to help someone in need. It was the quiet tenderness within him despite everything he had endured. Aldrin had every reason to become cruel, bitter, or hateful toward the world, and yet he remained deeply soft with her. Attentive. Patient. Loving in the smallest ways imaginable. He listened to her when others dismissed her. He admired the things she created and the person she was, even while the village whispered fearful rumors about her supposed witchcraft. Around Aldrin, Ceridwen never felt strange or unwanted. For perhaps the first time herself, she felt fully understood.

Their connection grew naturally through countless quiet moments together. Gathering herbs side by side at dawn. Sitting near the cliffs in silence while the wind moved through the reeds. Listening to old stories beside the fireplace late into the night. Aldrin crafting little charms and totems for her with careful hands simply because he knew they made her smile. To Ceridwen, loving Aldrin never felt difficult or frightening. It felt inevitable.

She became very protective of him, knowing the horrors he had survived and the wounds his family had carved deep into his soul. More than anything, Ceridwen wanted Aldrin to experience the life he had always been denied - peace, kindness, safety, and love. She wanted him to understand that he deserved to exist without shame. And over time, Aldrin became her safe place as much as she became his.