Nphaea

The Elders tell of the day the eighth of the Bright Sisters fell to the earth below. She was a bright streak in the sky, flaming fury of a God's wrath around her before her judgment call was made known on all the wind. They say that only a single Floram ventured out to hear the call -an Elder of Elders, touched by the Green Mother above- to find what was to be done to appease the Sister, and quell her fire spread. What she found, however, was no Sister in angered cry, no Deity. Nothing, but a rose, small and weak, covered in red chlora.

Our Lady, wise and kind, took the frail rose into her care deep within the Sepal woods. It is said, that as time passed and wounds healed, a love bloomed between the two. And a new being bearing the name of the rose and her Hand, would come into being from their love. Unfortunately, a Harvest of rot would come for her. And then for all of the Green Mother's children if not stopped.

This is the last history passed down of the Floram, the farthest in time gifted as a glimpse by the Green Mother herself. And so these things are known. That all things must wilt and wither. That the Herald will be born. That rot will enter the world. The Elders know this well.

They only pray that the end is not yet near.

That, although herald, that she may be strong enough to contain it. To oppose it.

Whoever she may be.