Now, before we get to the story featuring Delya, let's have a look at her LORE. As you can see it's pretty short so there's definitely a lot of space for it to expand.
"Delya's Stand"
Delya adjusted the strap on her quiver, sighing as her hand brushed against the old sash from the Xenith Scale. It felt like a lifetime ago that she’d been part of their order, with all their endless talk of balance and waiting for the “right moment.” Now, looking around at the ruins of Vexalon, she wondered if there had ever been a right moment—or if the monks were just afraid to act.
The city was in ruins, with smoke rising from the wreckage and silence hanging in the air. Chaos had torn through this place, leaving nothing but destruction behind. Delya crouched low as she moved through the rubble, her bow ready. There were still survivors here—she’d seen them hiding in the shadows, afraid to come out.
“Delya!” someone whispered.
She turned to see Bera Dallin waving her over. Bera was always calm, even in the worst situations, but there was a tension in her voice this time. Delya hurried over, following her into a hidden cellar. Inside were a group of people—survivors. Their faces were pale, their clothes torn. They looked like they hadn’t eaten in days.
“Are you really one of the Riftwatchers?” one of them asked, their voice shaky.
Delya hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she deserved to be called that yet. “I fight with them,” she said after a moment. “And I’ll fight for you. I promise.”
Bera gave her a look—one of those looks that said a lot without words. “We’ll protect them, but we can’t just keep running,” she said. “We need to show them that there’s hope.”
Delya nodded. She didn’t have all the answers, but she knew one thing: she wasn’t going to stand by and let Chaos destroy everything. “Stay here,” she said to the group. “I’ll keep watch.”
Outside, the wind carried the faint sound of Chaos soldiers—heavy footsteps and strange, guttural noises. Delya climbed up onto a broken rooftop to get a better view. Sure enough, a small patrol was heading their way. There were five of them, ugly and twisted, their weapons glinting in the dim light.
Delya’s heart pounded. She reached for an arrow, the familiar weight of her bow giving her confidence. She drew the string back, taking a deep breath. Then she let the arrow fly.
It hit its mark, bursting with magical energy that lit up the night. The soldiers turned toward her, roaring in anger, but Delya didn’t stop. She fired again, and another soldier went down. They were getting closer now, but she wasn’t afraid. Every shot she took felt like she was undoing a little bit of the damage Chaos had done.
By the time it was over, the patrol was gone, and Delya stood alone among the bodies. She lowered her bow and looked back toward the cellar. She could feel the survivors’ eyes on her, even though she couldn’t see them.
For the first time in a long while, Delya felt like she was doing the right thing. She wasn’t just a watcher anymore. She was a fighter—and she wasn’t going to stop.
Over and Out,
Referral