[center][h3][color=yellow]~O~                                  [/color]
[color=98ff98]Illyd Dyll[/color][/h3][/center]
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	Two stalwart and impressive snow capped mountains hugged a valley. Their distant blue walls kept out any oppressive heat, and allowed a summer breeze to waft down and below, trapped in a ring. This breeze carried a sweet note in its wind, and often found itself rustling through thick and vibrant grasses that stood on a deep brown soil, pungent with the scent of the earth. Over the gentle rolls of the valley and alongside the cool crystal waters of a babbling stream, this breeze would travel over endlessly, only to be split across the bark of a small group of trees that stood crooked in the center of the valley. The tiny copse was free of any grand canopy or impenetrable trunks, but rather sported a lazily hung hammock where a man by the name of Illyd Dyll found himself. 

	It was hard for Illyd Dyll to say when he arrived in this valley, or even how he got there -- but there he found himself. With one leg swung over the edge of his cocoon, he laid in plain woolen robes, his eyes and hair the same deep brown as the soil, and in his hands he held a wooden harp. He wasn’t sure when he made it, but he did -- evident by the scarred wooden frame and the various and dubitable fixes administered to it. 

	Still, he played it all the same. A knuckle moving, a finger plucking -- he couldn’t quite remember when he started playing, but he was enjoying himself. His notes were nothing that could be considered groundbreaking, and definitely not wild -- but rather captured a sort of relaxed tameness, each pluck following the uniform of the valley around him. Where the river would babble, he would pluck to match it, where the grass rustled, a pluck for each, where the wind whispered by -- he gave a small break so it could speak in between his notes. Now and again the cicadas would hum along, and now and again he would hum along with the cicadas. 

	This small show had been going on for as long as Illyd Dyll could remember, but he didn’t mind. He plucked and plucked, until finally he just decided not to pluck. It wasn’t a hard decision, and one he made lightly -- opting instead to roll onto his side, the sun hitting him and warming his body. He stretched out to the golden orb in the sky, letting it warm his arms and legs. He closed his eyes, witnessing the pink of his lids against the sunny sky and with a shallow breath, he let himself slip into a sort of afternoon nap.

[center][color=yellow]~O~[/color][/center]

	It was hard to say how long he napped, but eventually his eyes creaked open. The sun was where he had left it, and the breeze was still playing with the grasses of the valley. He wasn’t too sure what woke him up, but there he was. He looked down at his stomach, a gentle rumble calling out to him -- that’ll do it.

	“Hungry are ya?” He said to no one in particular, his voice very cool and relaxed, much like the babbling creek.

	Of course there was no response, he wasn’t expecting one, but it was nice to hear a voice. With skill -- and several blundering attempts -- he managed to sit up in his hammock. He knew there was an easy way to get the food he desired, he had always known for as long as he could know: the earth would provide at his whim, he had always known that -- he just never had much reason to do something about it. 

	In fact, there was a lot he somehow knew and at the very same time, didn’t do much with. He never questioned it -- and he wasn’t about to start. Dismissing the complex thoughts, he reached up towards the tree, and it reached back down with a branch weighted by a plump apple. Doing what he does best, Illyd Dyll plucked it.

	As he took a bite, there was a single thought that managed to creep in: “I wish I could share this.”

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None used
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[hider=Summary]

Illyd Dyll is introduced alongside his realm, he plays a little song, takes a little nap, has a little bite. His only concern with the gentle day was that he wished he could share it with others.
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