NalyxaNocturne

Name: Logan Crawford Alias:  N/A Allegiance:  Faction Age:  25 Race:  Human Origin:  Idrep Occupation:  Used to work as an assistant to a blacksmith, currently none. Orientation:  Straight Status:  Single/widowed Social Status: Low-middle class. -Physical- Height:  6' Weight:  160 Hair:  Dirty blonde Natural Hair Color:  Dirty blonde Skin:  White Natural Skin Color:  White Other features: Has a long, irregular scar that starts at the left corner of his forehead, goes across his nose, and ends at the top of his right cheek. He is semi-muscular, his hair is straight and short, and he has a piercing in his right ear. -Personal

Alright. The first thing that needs to be known before I'm able to go into Lyana and Iekez is the fact that Lyana is Nal's heartless, and Iekez is Eiez's. For those of you who might not know what this means (and I'm not quite sure who wouldn't, but-) Lyana and Nal ultimately came from the same person (a somebody, named Lyana) when she was attacked by lesser heartless and took her heart away. Same went for Iekez and Eiez (coming from the somebody Iekez). Lyana and Iekez, the heartless, took their names from their somebodies. Nal and Eiez got their names when they both became a part of the Organization. Anyway, let's go on, in order of events.

Dear whomever it may concern, I'm writing this letter to inform you, or to whatever other brainless dimwit decided to ignore the past several letters I sent to you, that I am on maternity leave, and will not be able to carry out the missions you continue to persistently contact me with. Even if I wanted to fight whatever glorious beasts and splendid enemies there are out there on the battlefield- which, believe me, I don't, and I know it's a shame considering how enjoyable that's always been- I've been previously ordered by several individuals to stop my involvement with the fights going on here in The Empire for a good while. Of course, th

 It was a silent, dreary, and snowy night in Italy. The temperature had fallen to a record low around Christmastime this year, and in the town square of Tuscany, many families and individuals hurriedly paced over the cobblestone, hurried to get home. Each one breathed shakily, foggy, visible breaths escaping their lips. Carts with horses rolled tirelessly through the streets, and as the sun began to set on the town, the street lamps lining the road were lit before snow could fall and drive everyone back to their abodes. There was one exception, however. A small girl with raven hair stood nervously in the midst of the busy crowd. Silently, s