⟬ Outside the outer walls of City-State Whitehearth, eastern staging area, dawnbreak. ⟭
Despite Domhnall's dulled senses, he felt the oncoming morning to be surprisingly warm.
It wasn't a good sign.
It was potentially a very minor harbinger of ash and fire.
Domhnall was not a superstitious man.
And that was despite being born and raised in Port City Vralkek, a city of sailors and the collective superstitions of a hundred seaborne cultures.
So, it was a droll coincidence that, a mere three bells prior...
--his left hand stopped working.
It was an expensive, artificial hand, designed and produced in Whitehearth.
...He couldn't get it repaired, though; the entire city had been evacuated.
The artifice was special-ordered from the Arcanite Princess, so it had a unique, Elven aesthetic.