Naari

What kind of messenger needs a sabre that sings when it's unsheathed? Naari drew the blade just enough for its low hum to echo, a clear warning to the things that hunted in the wilder, greener parts of the woods. The scroll tube was a simple message—a recipe requested between villages—but the journey was never simple. They were born to the easy life in The Heart of the Forest, where dancing was currency and laughter was law. But someone had to carry the mail. Naari took the job because their feet were light and their smile could disarm a bandit faster than any weapon. The goatee they grew to look more serious, but the sabre was a necessity. It was a gift from a traveler they'd guided to safety, a heavy burden for a playful soul. After the path was clear, Naari would sheathe the blade, cutting off its song, and practice the jokes they'd tell upon their return.