Yord

To bards, the world is a vast ocean, with life as the cresting currents that flow through it. Yord wanders across the continent, seeking to stir the winds that drive this immense ocean. He tells the youth stories from afar, flipping yellowed pages that record treasures, dragon scales, wonders, and grand sights, gradually outlining the contours of a magnificent world.

“Tell me, wind that stirs the leaves... where do you come from?”

On his quest to trace the origin of the wind, he encountered rootless souls and gathered their stories, which he transformed into Genies using the Vicissitude Vessel. He then spoke these tales through beautiful, exotic ballads played on his Cloudsong Flute.

“How did that story go again? You know, the one about the Takin we heard in the Northern Land?”

The Genie, summoned by his music, swayed to the rhythm before resting its head on its hand, seemingly lost in deep thought. In an instant, the Genie transformed into the Takin, a strong, bulky figure holding a staff, bringing the long-forgotten legend to life through its vivid expressions and body movements.

“Hello, my friend. So long, may we meet again at the other end.”

Yord never lingers in one place for long, like a current that never stills at an unknown shore; it always follows the wind. Leaving to explore and tell tales is what exactly a bard does. The old currents will stir up new waters, gradually carrying them toward distant horizons.

There was a golden era of bards when countless hopeful, brave young people set sail into the unknown to explore the vast world. Bards often traveled in groups, singing, playing, and chatting along the way. Yet today, bards have nearly all faded away. Cool magic, advanced alchemy, and lucrative careers appeal more to the youth than the “elusive” concept of hope, courage, and pursuit.

“Don't be silly, Yord! The place is a mess right now. The remaining forces of the Void are still a threat, and Nightfall is causing trouble, too. Why do you have to stay outside instead of just finding a safe spot?”

Yord was busy packing his belongings.

“Yord, listen! I know of a forest. It's pretty much only Tree Spirits living there. It's hidden and safe...”

Yord ignored them.

“Don't be ridiculous, Yord! Nowhere on the continent is safe right now. Hey, where do you think you're going?”

Yord is, as always, on his way to his next destination.

Yord's expression reveals little of what's on his mind. The Tree Spirit's joy and sorrow can only be glimpsed through the melodies of his Cloudsong Flute.

“You sound sad, Yord. Do you miss home?”

Bards rarely feel homesick; for them, the world itself is a home sweet home. Yord is flesh and blood, after all. He does feel sorrow, especially for those who have been displaced by the ravages of war, for separation and departure stand in stark contrast to the bard's way—it's not a cheerful, billowing current but a lament marred by corruption. In response to that, Yord releases the genies of guardians and healers (stories like these can be heard in every corner of the World), channeling gentle energy to heal the suffering lives affected by disasters.

“Yord, you are different from other Tree Spirits. They're either beautiful, pointy-eared elves, gnarled ancient trees, or vibrant, captivating flowers. Which tribe do you belong to?”

Well, that's a different chapter of the story. It could be traced back to the golden era and has been echoing in Yord's mind ever since, making the gloomy present all the more heartbreaking.

Back then, he was treasured in his master's vessel and known as the first Genie, the one who recorded the very first tales of the bards.