THE FAL NARNI



Based on writing by Hanna Liljekvist

Secretive conspirators, decadent experimenters and keepers of old traditions. The Fal Narni are an enigma, and not a harmless one. The beautiful but poisonous flower which their province is named after is symbolic not only of the nation but its people as well. Secrecy and deception are woven into the very fabric of society, teaching that your true motives must never be fully apparent.
Though they are part of the Rakkhari Commonwealth, it is by no means a stable situation and one that is growing ever more complicated. An obedient facade hides a seething contempt and more than a few conspiracies. Old traditions are kept alive in secret, far from prying eyes that would seek to stomp them out.

They have a fascination for beauty in all its different shapes, though the Fal Narni concept of beauty can seem very strange if not outright alien to outsiders. But the strange and unexplored is the very essence of Fal Narni beauty. Real beauty, just like the truth, is unsettling. Sometimes terrifying.
The people that dwell deep down in the mists have less time to think about beauty, though the same secrecy and fascination with the unknown is still there.

The land itself is fraught with beauty and danger. The high peaks of the mountains are reserved for the highest-ranking families, while others toil in valleys below. Due to the province being made up of deep, plunging valleys, much of it is covered in a near-eternal fog. A fog that will likely never be fully explored.

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Short mood text

The evening air was hot and balmy, unforgiving even at the top of the peaks. An almost impossibly colorful sunset was slowly growing colder as Raj Mesmodal, house elder impatiently waited for his sentence. He stood on a balcony gazing out over the mists below, deep in thought. The many voices from the guests surrounding him were drowned out by his own thoughts, even as they tried to get his attention. He cared nothing for them now, at this hour of his personal doom.

Suddenly, a cry broke the murmur on the balcony.

“Quiet! Quiet you damned squawkers! The Rakkhari have made their verdict!”

At once there was a great tumult and then, utter silence. All eyes sought out Mesmodal, waiting for his reaction. His heart heavy with dread, he turned and met the messengers gaze.

“The next Rajal to rule our land has been chosen?” he said, with a trembling voice.
The messenger approached and kneeled in respect. “Indeed they have, Raj.”
“Well...?” his voice betrayed him, faltering.
“They have chosen Raj Kamal to take the flower crown.”


Suddenly the balcony erupted in cheers and celebration. At once, the weight on Mesmodals heart was lifted, and he felt life return to him once more.

“Haha! They chose well, indeed! Serves that old crone right to be saddled with the Rakkhari taskmasters!” he cheered to his guests, all eager to congratulate him. Tomorrow business would continue as usual. But tonight they would feast to the honor of the new Rajal.