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Arlecchino Drip Marketing

"Fate grants favors to no one. Only those who would fight it with every ounce of their being may earn the right to challenge it."
— Pierro, "The Jester"

◆ Name: Arlecchino
◆ Title: Dire Balemoon
◆ Head of the House of the Hearth
◆ Vision: Pyro
◆ Constellation: Ignis Purgatorius

Arlecchino: Dire Balemoon
Head of the House of the Hearth

To this day, Arlecchino still recalls that night when she was first appointed as a Harbinger.
Up the stairs and down the long gallery, with naught to see through the windows but a world of ice and snow without end.
The biting wind wailed loudly, now as mirthful laughter, now as somber farewell—
With a start, Arlecchino came to, the hallucinations of her memory mingling with the sounds of real-life conversation that surrounded her.
The hearthfire burned with vigor, its gentle warmth pervading the room, and its red light glowed on the children's faces, lighting up their innocent, unaffected smiles. If some uninformed passerby were to stumble in at this precise moment, they would surely mistake the scene before them for that of an ordinary, happy family.
But just as Arlecchino raised her steaming cup to take a sip of scalding-hot black tea, the clock began to chime — and within an instant, the laughter and cheer that filled the room were banished. The flames flickered so that for a moment the light faltered, the faces of all present cast in somber expression.
Placing her cup back down, Arlecchino stood up, and in a calm, measured tone, called out several names:
"Chapleau, you're with Lyney. Retrieve the required intelligence. Foltz, you and Filliol are on guard duty. Stay back and tend to the Hearth..."
"Yes, 'Father.'"
Without a redundant syllable, nor a hint of hesitation, they answered as one.
Not long after, the fire had dwindled and the house fallen utterly silent, with nothing to be seen but a single shaft of infiltrating moonlight, peeking through a gap in the curtains upon a cup of gradually cooling tea.

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