Wentiana 'Yana' tumet

Roots

"Our Little Nergui, grow and blossom into the flower you were always meant to be." - Tribe Elders

In the harrowing heat of the Steppes lives a tribe where the earth could scorch your feet, and your breath fought with the sun. Indiscriminate swathes of yellows and reds painted the landscape, and still the nomadic Xaela pressed forward.The children of the tribe are nameless at birth, only earning their title and acceptance by proving themselves capable of surviving in the harsh heat. On their tenth summer, every unnamed child is tied to a tree and made to find their means of escape.Blood, sweat and mettle acted as their creed-- those who could not keep up were left behind: unworthy of the Dusk Mother's graces, and the tribe's tending.Wentiana was no different: stranded and afraid, her back scraped against the gnarled wood until her skin sanctified the tree an innocent, bloody, red. And still, she was unable to loose her bindings, screaming, praying for any form of respite. Her throat clamored and shut, as her will fought with her failing body. In a last effort to live, Yana resorted to forcing herself out, suffering the friction burns of sawing her yet-to-harden scales-- and skin-- against the thick braided cord. And eventually finding her own freedom.The same could not be said of the others tied with her: if not strangled by their bindings, became too weak to struggle any further. Such was their tribe's truth. None knew any better, and would rather succumb than live in shame.However, her success has yet to be known by her tribe; little Yana could not rest yet. Preferring to rub her wounds against the dry sandy soil, if only to staunch her bleeding and last the rest of her return to her tribe. Her injuries proved too much for the young Xaela, eventually succumbing to her pain and the elements. If not for a gracious traveller, she would have completely lost her life. Such services came at a cost, rendering her in servitude too far from home: figuratively, and almost literally in chains as a smuggled slave to Ishgardian nobility.A decade later, some may wonder where House Pherophond lay in the annals of Ishgard's History. Even now, the manor seemed to simply disappear from Empyreum. Some-- perhaps you-- may have never even known in the first place. Almost as if it never did-- or rather, never should have existed.Yana remains nameless to her tribe, unable to lift the shame of her failure at the tree. She dreams of returning, knowing the futility of receiving her blessing if her truth ever came to light.. If they are even waiting after nearly 16 years.

"Dusk Mother, have I yet to prove myself in your trial..?"

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