Remember me for the people I helped, the choices I made, what I believed in.

Tell my story.

My name is Eris Snuffsmot.

— Written by Oli

Upon the board that once held the quests drafted by the Royal Guard, a notice appears. It’s not too long, not too complicated, but it’s sincere and carefully scribed. It’s an obituary, written by Thea Yerake, for Eris Snuffsmot. And, although the only stone into which Eris’ name is carved is the plaque for her tomb, her obituary is taken down by Redwaey and woven, along with newspaper clippings, quest notices, poems, and more, into the heart of Ytic’s enduring story.

But everyone knows this story. Maybe, it’s time to tell another. Less well-known; perhaps less influential; but certainly no less important.

Bee.

The obituary is only the start. Thea journals, and writes, and begins to document the growth of the city around her. Ytic has been torn to pieces, its most essential aspects taken and beaten until they are unrecognisable. It will take time, time and effort and oh, so much work to rebuild — but first one, then a few, then almost all the new developments are greeted with a poem plastered to their facades. It’s never anything too complicated; a few simple stanzas, explaining what this place once was and, too, what it will one day become.

They aren’t torn down.

They remain until rain and time wash them away, until each building’s history is just as well-known as the future laid out for it. And, every time, the style is a little more confident, a little more daring. A little more bold.

But becoming a midnight writer, of course, does not pay the bills. And while there have never been many bills to pay in Ytic, in a world without Notes, the ability to sustain oneself is more important than ever before. In the weeks and months after the Antagonist is defeated and his replacement safely sealed away, people find themselves queuing outside an infirmary stretched nearly to breaking point, desperate for the one woman inside to help them, to heal their wounds.

It’s in this tense, frantic atmosphere that Thea first comes to the infirmary, hopeful and empty-handed. She tells Mirara that she is here to help; that she has little experience, but that she’s willing to learn.

And learn she does. At first, while it’s busy, she does little more than hand out orders — but she makes the point to ask, to investigate and inquire and learn until she can tell foul from tasty, deadly from safe, at no more than a single glance. And she enjoys it. There’s something refreshing about helping others, about finding a way to share the kindness Ytic has so sorely lacked in recent years (or since she was created, at the very least.) Thea might not have been able to change the outcome of Ytic’s story, to amplify her voice so it seemed that those calling for clemency were more than a very few — but she can make change now, person by person, one at a time.

And there is always time for more.