Yewande
Legacy Name: Yewande

"A stifling surge
Shooting through all my veins
Extreme apprehension
Suddenly I'm insane

Lost all hope for redemption
A grave situation desperate at best

Why do I feel so numb?
Is it something to do with where I come from?
Should this be fight or flight?
I don't know why I'm constantly reeling

Helpless hysteria
A false sense of urgency
Trapped in my phobia
Possessed by anxiety

Run
Try to hide
Overwhelmed by this complex delirium"
Dream Theater,"Panic Attack"

~~~~

Yewande was not always like...this.

Children, it is said, are imbued with the wisdom of innocence, and Yewande was perhaps the best example of that: she, like most younglings, would merely percieve the words of their elders as distant buzzing, a torrent of complexities they needn't worry about. So imagine grandma's surprise when her sweet little pup would pop up to tell her exactly how to cut this root or that leaf, fully convinced of hs. One can laugh, of course, and put it aside as her wanting to play an adult game: however, after the first attempt resulted in nothing but mangled leaves, doubt set in, and nobody thought much harm would come from trying Yewande's way. It might work.

After a while, it became pointless to ignore her views on such matters. For, after a while, everyone knew Yewande would always, always be right.

Despite the bewilderment of her family, the babalawos (priests), and the young wolf herself, ascertained that she couldn't converse with the spirits as the other gifted could. In fact, she couldn't hear them at all: Yewande percieved their thoughts, perhaps even their feelings, but neither she nor the wandering souls seemed to be aware of the other. She'd pluck out the memory, pick up on the emotion, no communication going on truly between them.

The gift, while useful, would not allow the young wolf to become an iyaloche (priestess), for nothing could she attempt to appease souls if she couldn't speak to them, or they to her. However, Yewande was content to train as a diviner, and quickly took to the agagá (shells). The shells did not part the veil any further for her, as it was much hoped it would- in fact, it seemed as if something outside of her naturally blocked her from percieving the spirit world beyond the impressions she acquired!

The elders were very much concerned, for such a determination on part of the ancestors might mean danger for the youth in the future. What would happen if the veil were pierced? What fell fate awaited the sweet wolf, that prompted such a firm shield be placed about her? Thankfully, Yewande's tender soul ambitioned no great powers, and she was so content to simply thieve small answers that the matter was allowed to rest. As long as her invisible protection be left alone, there was no reason worry further.

But whatever dark presence had meant to harm her was not to be held back. Perhaps the defence was fated to fail, perhaps it was hacked at quietly for ages until a crack appeared, but the fact was that, one day, Yewande picked up something that she didn't feel, nor see. This new impression, she realized with wonder, was one she could hear.

The Wall Crumbles

It started as gently as the patter of a light rain upon a grass roof, a faint whisper around the edges of her subconscious. For two rains she ignored it, believing it a figment of her imagination, until she realized the voice was only getting louder and more eloquent with time, and she decided to listen. In a few more seasons, the indistinct babbling became the strong voice of what Yewande excitedly identified as a spirit. It spoke occasionally, and seemed to remark on unimportant matters like the coming weather, or small household incidents, and yet Yewande was intrigued.

The joy of having discovered a new ability within herself left soon enough. Suspicion filled her at the single entity's insistence, at a few, spare moments when she felt something in it that might have been agression. And had not the silence the spirits imposed upon her been called protection? Was this voice setting out to hurt her? She decided that to ignore it would be best: she was, after all, untrained, and a true soul in need would seek one who could converse with it appropriately.

But the spirit sensed this, and it prepared.

The Wall Shatters

It was very clear to anyone who met her that Yewande's ruling love was for her family. She cherished their affection, took care of them with real devotion, even babied those who had grown too old to serve as guides for the younger. It went without saying that she would do anything and everything for them, and how she was particularly attentive to any spiritual impression that might affect them. So when she began noticing feelings of intense wrath when in their presence, or catching a memory pried from one who had in life delighted in unjustified violence, she was concerned. Then openly afraid.

Finally, when a new vision, one that seemed of the future, came to show her their deaths at the hands of the unquiet dead, she was panicked. She focused her atomized powers, sought her ghostly stalker with her mind, and howled at him.

"ENOUGH!"

Deals With Demons

That was all it took. Yewande had opened herself up to it, and communication was unavoidable. She tried to consult the babalawos, but he (suddenly, she understood he was male) and she were now connected, and her young mind was easily bludgeoned by the images of gore and terror he sent, te fell emotions he pushed upon her, whenever she even thought of walking by one of the priests. If she wanted to retain her sanity, she would have to manage on her own.

On a warm night, Yewande stole away to the beach, far beyond the fires of home, with her shells in paw. She presented herself to the voice, telling him of her issues with the spirits (or lack thereof) and how honored she was of having caught his attention, as she'd done enough harm angering him already. A long, anxious silence ensued, and just when the young wolf thought her latent, incomprehensible power had blocked this spirit as well, she received an answer:

"Maferun, iyin obiní (Blessings, great friend). You may call me Arayé. Your plight pains me so...the orishas wish to communicate with you quite fervently, you have been so very blessed. But something, I do not know what, keeps us all away. Come...agree to travel in spirit with me to the skies. There, those departed will help you break this invisible barrier, and you will be the mightiest of the iyaloche."

And the innocent, trusting Yewande, knowing that the choice was no longer hers to make, that she should have run, that she had put herself in the hands of a terrible, fiendish being, said yes. The sense of agression within him overwhelmed her, and she closed her eyes.

Nobody is sure where the spirit took Yewande, but the journey lasted until well past the noon of the next day. Friends and family found her at the beach she'd gone to, the rising tides beginning to pull at her body. which shuddered and twisted like a dying snake, as the sun reached its apex. Her teachers knew upon seeing her that she was not dead: her soul was somewhere far away, unreachable, and the confusion of all the spirits asked for her whereabouts deeply worried everyone.

After a desperate consultation was made to Changó, the vague fears were confirmed: an evil spirit had taken Yewande. Her restless body was proof enough of the terrors her wandering soul was being subject to.

No time had been yet spent on planning the recovery when, suddenly, Yewande's body stopped writhing. Fell, cruel laughter, faint as the wind, passed through the ears of all those present, and Yewande's eyes slowly opened.

Embrace the Evening

It was perhaps a full minute before Yewande fully awoke. She proceeded to throw herself at her family, sobbing with simultaneous grief and relief, holding them close, yet not saying a word at all. It took a good long while to calm down the desperate child, who even after the tears had subsided refused to be even a step too far away from her beloveds or speak a single word. But it was urgent that she speak, give any sign of life: how else would they be sure the soul that had returned was indeed hers?

Finally, her teacher spoke: "Child, if you are indeed Yewande, speak. Fear the wrath of the orishas if you are not". Rounding her sad eyes on her well-beloved guide, perhaps hurt at not being identified, she responded.

"It is me," she said, "I am here. But at the same time I wonder how much of myself still is itself for real."

It was immediately obvious that the soul present within the body was indeed Yewande's own, for her manner of speech was the very same, and her eyes held the same tenderness. But along with the familiar sentiment, her eyes were filled with a wrong-ness, the look of a very old prisoner who had long resigned to living free. She refused to say what she had seen, no matter how she was pressed, and in truth, with the protective silence of the spirits broken, the elders expected the worst: and so it was.

A child gone astray...

From that day onward, Yewande lost all control of her powers. Lost memories and jumbled emotions bombarded her at random intervals, sometimes to the point of making her wonder whether the feelings were hers or not. Ironically enough, where she once felt severed from the world of spirits, now it was more than eager to pursue her: her spirit broke free of her body at random, a terrible, forced spiritual journeying, like an enraged river carrying off a pup. When each terrible voyage ended, she was subject to violent panic attacks: chills and hot flushes, sweating and tremors invaded her, along with an inner emotional numbness, a sense of being out of oneself, of not existing.

The attacks would soon come without the journey, for Yewande, her psyche overwhelmed, became hypersensitive to anything concerning the afterlife, and any mention of it would send her mind reeling. No spell, potion, sacrifice or prayer worked to ease the recurring terror even slightly, and no method served to contain her soul either: Yewande, racked with panic, relived her torment once and again every day. She became afraid of the dark, of open spaces, gained an outright terror of dying, so out-of-place in one so young.

And yet, in the face of all this, she spoke not a word of what she saw during her doomed trip, nor allowed herself to shout or scream, so as not to yield even the vaguest of clues during her seizures.

Bring on the Night
"I will not let you take me."

After a year under the permanent care of her family, Yewande was exhausted. She felt herself a cruel joke amidst evil, vengeful spirits, for her condition should have killed her, or at least driven her mad, and yet she was both painfully alive and terribly lucid. The source of this strength, while unknown, kept her going - the strength of her family, on the other hand, had all but run out. Their exhaustion, their despair, and her failed attempts at making the problem seem smaller were all a sign that the time was ripe for her to continue the fight on her own.

This determination, however, was not without its problems: how could a wolf weighed down by agoraphobia travel the distances she'd need to conquer in search of a remedy?

Yewande knew then she was right to turn to one of her old teacher.

Being victim to near-permanent anxiety, it was seen best that Yewande's progress be allowed to plateau, and those abilities she had acquired after the doomed journey, while visibly growing, did so like wild weeds, expanding artlessly. As such, it had been a year since she'd even seen the old iyaloche, who nonetheless recieved her with subdued glee.

Yewande was only cautiously optimistic about what the old wolf could do for her: after a year of trying to heal her, what else could magic do for her? Nonetheless, she told the old wolf her plan, nearly begging her for something, anything that might help her become fit enough to travel. The old iyaloche was pensive.

"There is little I can do for you at this point," she said, more than heartbroken. "We have done all that we can, and all has been for naught. And yet, you are sure you want to travel? Yes? Well then, we will offer the orishas one last thing...let us offer the gentle Ochún, for all the love of your heart, the memory of this place, your home, in exchange for the silence your minds needs. A fair warning, though: your perception of the spirits will become quite faint. Never will you be rid of it completely, for it is a gift from your ancestors, but its strength can be diminished."

Yewande was shocked: if she were to give up her remembrance of the way back to the village, where would she return when her quest was done? But then, what good was she to do here, if all that she could cause was pain? She accepted, and the elder wolf passed a rapid paw before her eyes. No flashes, loud noises or other odd sensations came: she merely saw memories and images quickly pass through her mind, then vanish. Then, as if it were slowly melting into reality, a small white bird materialized.



"This little bird," said her teacher "you will call Adedewe. She is a symbol of your sacrifice. Keep her well, and she will return to you the favor. There is no time to say goodbye to your beloveds: that you will leave to me. Now, think of hope, for I will help you on your way." And with that, she let out the initial words of a lovely hymn. At the same time, a great wind raged into life within the small hut, picking up the younger wolf and raising her into the night sky. When the tempestuous currents calmed and she found herself upon the ground once more, she was vaguely aware of being far from home. How much, or where, she did not know, nor did she try to remember. She picked up the small satchel she'd packed, and ran headfirst into the quest for her life.

That very night she abandoned familiar territory, her traumas the one true weight, into the East, the North, the South...any place is apt for this traveling, tortured soul, as long as magic lives within it.

The Now

After several years on the road, Yewande, no longer a pup, has something of a leash upon herself. She can identify an oncoming panic attack with sufficient anticipation, managing to find a safe place before it overtakes her. Her fears live on, but she has become accustomed to them, if one may use such a word in this context, and manages to pull through, much like Sisyphus endures endlessly pushing a rock that he knows will inevitably fall back down. So as to further avoid contact with the spirits, she has recently been attempting dream journeys, as the dreamscape is perhaps the safeset otherwordly plane she knows. Her spirit travel is still uncontrolled, yet for some reason, occurs far less than when she was first afflicted.

Yewande has encountered the nords. Assaulted by a Frost Giant on her way to where she'd been told a settlement might be found, she was rescued by a curious warrior, his fur a silver-white reminiscent of the stars. His eyes were slightly erratic, but he was comfort and warmth amidst the hail invoked by the giant, and so she all but surrendered to him. When awoken, back at the settlement, she finds herself in the custody of the wolf.

And, with chagrined humor, she discovers him a bragging, overtly too good-humored bulk of a wolf who remains the only one to laugh at her scrawny build in her face. In the immortal words of another rather disillusioned rescued dame, "some rescue".



Statistics

Name: Yewande
Nickname:Yewa, Scrawny, Hela/Hel
Age: Early adulthood
Race: Mixed cultures, predominant Yoruba
Powers: Clairvoyance (moderately supressed), divining with shells (moderately supressed), empathy (vastly supressed), weak dreamscape travel, weak pyrokinesis (usually used for self defense)
Personality: Gentle, sweet and slightly naive, interspersed with periods of withdrawal and occasionally deeply sorrowful
Appearance: Pitch black with neon yellow eyes, likes to wear lots of bead bracelets and necklaces, usually in red and white
Current Mood: Disoriented
Current Location: The village (with the annoyance)
Time elapsed since last panic attack: 1 hour