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With the failed attempt at Final Heaven, the people changed steadily over time, and every citizen of the mainland realized the change. One citizen in particular, Sifl Oliver, had only just recently crossed into the mainland from the region of RhyDin.

After crossing over the boarders of his country, Sifl stood with only a grimace, if even to be distinguished as anything on his emotionless face. A slight wind blew the short, medium-brown spikes of his hair through the darkness of that night, barely showing through the blackness of twilight. One could distinguish young, peach-toned skin as well as the slightest of elvish ears. Endless voids of green-peering eyes, gazed into the distance. His black trench coat blew, as the full moon, which being of oval silver, glimmered in the skys gravitational dance. Some brown-black leather armor was shown as his normal attire. A pole was strapped to his back showing the most of age and decay. It was rusted and had dulled edges along with bloodstains, which nearly meshed its last purity of silver remaining. A small belt with a silver handle was about his waist, the handle holding a sturdy short-sword. Baggy white pants covered his legs, as to protect them not as armor but from the norm. He wore a pair of lightweight elfin shoes, designed for the usual thieving and assassin work.

"Hmm" he hummed. Dawn wasnt close to arriving and he thought to seek a place to sleep for the night. Maybe a local tavern would suffice for once, a nice change from his usual rest place.