Roccia

Battier, the Fool's Troupe's best fisherman, ran into trouble one day on what was supposed to be an ordinary fishing trip. With only his trusted harpoon, he fought against an aquatic Tacet Discord so ferocious that it soon dragged him beneath the waves. Luckily, Roccia sensed something was off when Battier didn't return as expected and quickly rallied troupe members to form a small rescue team. They searched the nearby waters and finally pulled a drenched, beleaguered Battier ashore. However, his well-worn harpoon hadn't fared as well—it was wedged tight in the Tacet Discord's side, and both were swallowed by a whirlpool in the sea.

Without his harpoon, Battier felt like he'd lost part of his spirit. He'd spend hours baiting traps and coming up empty, as if the fish sensed his missing piece, too. Some days, he'd just lie in the black sand of the Strand, staring at the dim sky. Even the clouds seemed to taunt him, shaping themselves into fish that drifted further and further away.

"Aaaaah—!" he shouted at the sky in helpless frustration.

As if to ease his mind, the clouds began to part, layer by layer, and beams of light spilled down, turning the sky into a shimmering sea. Right in the center, his lost harpoon appeared, descending like a divine gift from the heavens, gleaming in golden sunlight. It landed straight into his hand as if it had never left. In the meantime, fish swarmed to him once more, dancing through the air and across the water.

Heartened by this wonder, Battier hauled in a full net to bring back to the troupe. Roccia and Pero used the catch to whip up a feast—roasted squid, creamy clam chowder, peppered fish steaks, and so on. The air was filled with the rich aroma of seafood as everyone gathered by the fire, laughing and eating together. Someone even wielded a fish skewer as a sword, putting on a little show that had people in stitches. Looking at the jolly crowd, Battier felt a warm feeling inside—it's the simple joy of being needed and the thrill of fishing for those who truly appreciated him.

While the others were enjoying the feast, Roccia exchanged a quick smile with Pero before hiding the Cloudcaster they'd used earlier into a haystack. As a prop master, she knew how much meaning certain objects held for people. No matter how difficult, she'd always find a way to retrieve what was lost—whether from the sea or the sky. After giving them a good polish, she'd plan a heartwarming, dramatic reunion, just as she'd done with Battier's golden harpoon.

From that day on, the troupe had a new show: Battier and the Golden Harpoon. The crew enjoyed re-enacting this enchanting story with grilled fish in hand and hearts full of laughter.

To become the troupe's first mate, one must prove they can face down any storm the sea can throw at them. That's why every first mate must pass a trial—a perilous voyage led by the troupe's best helmsperson. For Roccia, her helmsperson was none other than Tina.

Even with young Roccia onboard, Tina held firm, steering the ship straight into the heart of a brewing storm with steady hands, unflinching as she faced the dark, roiling waves.

Roccia didn't seem fazed at first. She calmly pulled out one of Pero's scripts, reading as if she were back under the troupe's tent instead of on a ship pitching wildly in the storm. She dabbed seawater from her face, reading plays prepared by Pero as though it were all a practiced routine. Years of crafting props and performing on stage had made her adaptable, and her time with Pero had taught her to understand and respond to the subtle frequencies of the Echo ship.

But as they reached the depths of the storm, faint, glowing eyes began to surface in the dark waters, and ominous whispers carried on the wind. Roccia's steady demeanor seemed to falter—her hand wavered as she tucked the script away and gripped the edge of the cabin. Eventually, even the hardened Tina noticed Roccia's trembling. At a loss on how to comfort her, Tina instead raised her voice in song, her voice strong and steady, resonating with the Echo ship. All she could do in this situation was to hold the ship steady through the rough waters, which required absolute focus.

Then, a softer voice joined her. Tina looked back to see Roccia huddled near the cabin, singing along with a light quaver to her voice. Though fear glinted in her eyes, Roccia hadn't forgotten her duty. She took out her telescope, scanning the dark horizon for their course. Tina's voice rose stronger, blending with Roccia's softer notes, overpowering the ominous whispers around them. Catching the right current, the ship surged forward, breaking through the storm into the first light of dawn.

Back on shore, Roccia's face was as calm and collected as ever. From that day on, First Mate Roccia guided every voyage with a steady hand, always bringing people safely home.

"Roccia?" Tina, known for her blunt honesty, was asked later. She grinned, a glint of pride in her eyes. "She's tough and dependable—a good girl who deserves love and care. As for her pitch… well, let's just say it may not be perfect, but it's got heart."

Besides the twinkling star, little Luca's most cherished item is an old ticket.

Luca remembers the day Roccia handed it to her after she'd been rescued from the Strand. Roccia was calm and steady, even though she couldn't have been much older than Luca herself. She could handle anything—helping lost pilgrims who drifted ashore, cooking meals for the troupe, recording funny moments, collecting seashells and Luceanites, even refilling the confetti pistol. And of course, cheering up homesick little newcomers like Luca was all part of her role.

One day, Luca looked up at Roccia with a sniffle, holding the ticket tightly in her little hand. "I miss my Mama, Roccia… I want to go home and see her. But I only have a one-way ticket, and I lost it…"

The ticket in his hand read, "One-Way Ticket to Wonderland," written in beautiful handwriting with tiny flowers around the edges.

Roccia knew right away what this was about. The Order, always busy banishing anyone who challenged them, would never been so kind to make such a heartwarming ticket. She was sure Luca's mother had made it herself, hoping to give her a bit of comfort. Roccia wanted to reveal the truth to her. "The Order didn't make these tickets, Luca. From the handwriting, it looks like a kind lady made it… someone who loves you." "They were made by your mother, Luca. They can't really bring you home, so it doesn't matter if they're lost."

But she knew saying that might only make Luca cry more.

Roccia thought for a moment, then left and returned with a new ticket—a "Return Ticket," decorated with painted flowers, seashells, and a hand-drawn stamp that read, "Arrived at Wonderland."

Luca's face lit up as she took it, clutching it tightly with a huge smile.

As the troupe's prop master, Roccia could easily make something like that, but there was more to it than just crafting. She remembered when Pero had done the same for her when she first arrived on the island. Sometimes, a little piece of paper was all it took to hold a whole lot of hope.

Little Roccia lay weak on the Strand, with the wreckage of her pilgrim ship battered to pieces by the waves behind her. Her fading eyes caught glimpses of Tacet Discords scattered across the water. So this would be the end of her "pilgrimage"... She closed her eyes, bracing herself for what she thought would be "divine judgment."

However, death didn't come as she expected. All she could hear were wind and faint cries in the air. When she opened her eyes, she found herself face-to-face with a peculiar box and a long arm reaching out to her—a hand offering her a second chance at life.

At first, Roccia felt lost after joining the troupe, for the little world she once knew had shattered. She soon realized she had been banished simply for singing songs from forbidden plays. The Ragunna she remembered—alive with plays, flowers, and freedom—had faded, leaving only the Order's lies and the hollow shell of her memories. The pilgrimage she once believed in was a ruse, wrapped in false promises, with a so-called "return ticket" meant only to fool children like her. Overnight, everything she held dear crumbled. Roccia began to question her love for theater—was it even worth anything anymore? But stranded on a desolate island, she found nothing else to rebuild her world.

"Pero! Pero!" The odd box handed her a small, hand-drawn ticket with "Return Trip" written on it, decorated with painted seashells.

"Pero! Pero!" It passed her a yellowed play script, filled with tales of Ragunna and lyrics of freedom.

"Pero! Pero!" Out came a beautifully crafted mask, painted with intricate patterns and adorned with pearls and shells.

"Pero! Pero!" The box reached out to her once more, inviting her to join the troupe's next performance. Tina's bright voice rang out, Bardolino flew in the air with balloons and tossed petals, Brant swung down on a rope holding a massive welcome banner, and Pero fired the confetti pistol, inviting her to the stage. This lively, chaotic welcome was Roccia's first taste of a different kind of play—a play filled with nothing but pure joy.

From that moment on, Roccia began to rebuild her world through the plays held within Pero's box. She saw that Ragunna's grand stage had been a place of strict control, where only songs that conformed to the Order's tenets were permitted. But here, among her fellow "Fools," she could finally express everything—joy, anger, and sorrow—freely. Together, they were all building a new home.

Now, Roccia works confidently between the troupe's base and the Strand, calmly coordinating the rescue of new pilgrims and keeping this safe harbor running. Each task, no matter how small, is a piece of the home she's building—a place where she can finally belong, busy and content.

People came and went in the Troupe of Fools, each one inspiring Roccia's lively performances. Shows like "Battier and the Golden Harpoon," "Tina the Soprano Navigator," "Brant the Maverick Captain," and "Pero the Peculiar Box" became legends of their own. By now, she and the crew had put on over two hundred performances, lighting up every corner of Penitent's End.

The troupe didn't have much, so as the prop master, Roccia became a master of turning everyday items into theater magic. Battier's golden harpoon, for instance, had played the part of a Primus's scepter, a wandering knight's sword, and even the La Guardia's dagger. The Echo ship had starred as everything from a lifeboat to a windmill giant's boot and even the eye of a sea monster.

For years, Roccia and Pero explored every inch of the Troupe's home base, every stretch of the island shore. They collected countless Luceanites from the Strand and watched thousands of sunrises. Like the others, they had been confined to this place for too long. The troupe was a warm haven for every member, but inevitably, some still dreamed of distant horizons while others longed for the homes they had left behind.

When the long-awaited music of the Carnevale drifted across the sea from Ragunna, along with petals celebrating the crowned Laureate, the Troupe of Fools felt the undeniable pull of a homeward wind.

Childhood memories were hazy for Roccia, but as she followed Brant and the crew into Ragunna's streets, the familiar smell of Trattoria Margherita's fresh-baked pizza and the songs spilling from the Odyssey Opera House stirred something deep within her, just like it did everyone else.

Under a golden sun in a clear sky, the city streets stretched out like a stage waiting for her. A soft breeze seemed to nudge open the box she had always hidden herself in, inviting her to step into a broader world. With open arms and a steady heart, Roccia took her first steps into Ragunna, welcoming a better tomorrow.

Now, as the Troupe of Fools' reliable first mate, Roccia stands ready to fill Ragunna's streets with laughter and joy once more.