Information

Sibyl has a minion!

Seer the Dryadic Dove

Sibyl
Legacy Name: Sibyl

The

Angelic Yaherra
Owner:

Tribe

Age: 4 years, 9 months, 1 week

Born: July 23rd, 2019

Adopted: 1 year, 6 months, 2 weeks ago

Adopted: October 17th, 2022

Statistics

Level: 208
Strength: 521
Defense: 520
Speed: 512
Health: 518
HP: 500/518
Intelligence: 276
Books Read: 276
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Cleaning Crew

CREDITS

profile template (c)

helix (get it)
template edited by

Tribe,

spacemage,

Gyarbear
overlay by

dalice
story by

Tribe
Background courtesy of Unsplash user Paul Summers
Adopted from User not found: elrond on 10/17/2022

Witch of the Wilds

I grew up in a time when mankind was still young.

It was a time when the gods roamed among us, taking interest in our first steps and rough-edged traditions. It was a time when they, too, were young and carefree, dancing with us under painted skies and singing brash into the night.

Yet the shine of innocence wears dull with time: we open our eyes to see the cruel world for what it is.

Man and god alike, we weather loss and trauma, grief and fury. We nurse our wounds and bury our sorrows, the shape of tomorrows uncertain in the aftermath. We raise our fists at the Fates and vow to rewrite history--mayhaps the gods can, but we ought to know better.

After all, we are only man: mortal, fallible, breakable.

There is more to mankind than our follies.

The gods themselves saw to that.

teaching morals and magic, gifts from the divine, being a handmaiden of Salixa (first coven), earning the trust of Avessa

the fall of the goddess, fading of Avessa

destroy what you hold dear

These consequences haunt me.

I am so deeply, truly sorry for these choices.

There are no words to truly describe this contrition, this deep regret

i suppose something is supposed to be here woops

I twist the bright skeins of magic--remnants of the goddess and her darling dove--to breathe life into new beings, to shape the powers of the coming age.

The first angel I spun neath the rising sun. She took the shape of an owl, her feathers downy and white; she bore a crescent moon stamped upon her brow. From her head sprouted a set of winding antlers, their prongs narrowed to delicate tips.

The second I spun in the woods of my youth. He found form as a lithe panther, his spottings tapered like willow leaves upon his dark pelt. He slunk through the undergrowth with an aura of danger, wild like the midnight hour.

The third I spun at Urðarbrunnr's edge. He materialized as a dappled stallion, with bright white speckling his silvery coat; he looked as if sprung from a spring himself, seafoam afloat clear waters.

To each, I whispered a soft remark:

keep watch, bright one; mankind needs your wisdom and grace.

safeguard what is dearest of home, wild one; hold refuge for justice and goodness.

proffer forgiveness to the contrite, shining one; shelter them 'neath your great wings.

I lift whatever last remains of the goddess into the branches of the World Tree; I twine her essence into the dimensional leys that cross between worlds, to provide refuge to those who need it most.

... It felt fitting, for the Protectress to offer Sanctuary beyond her lifetime.

These... these are are pale, paltry acts--near nothings in the face of my sacrilege.

I cannot give them second life--but I can hope that some part of them lives on.

woops there needs to be stuff here

I watch the witchling wander, a trinket singing its sorrowful song in hand. It is Their song, its high melody--once sung by the goddess--lost to history.

She is ill-equipped for this undertaking, led far from home by the compass needle. She's tenacious, that much is certain. She knows little of her heritage, and even less of her potential; she stumbles through her course, taking every manmade option that leads her round and round, all while seeking a dimensional gate as the ley lines shift neath her feet.

It would be all too easy to take her place, to pluck this burden from her hands--but it is not my place to reach for power once more, especially not from him.

I cross her path for the briefest moment, twist the leys to open the gate; she disappears into the beyond, into the abode of a reclusive god.

I wish her nothing but good passage in what is fated... for her course to be kinder than mine.

other plot beats: rise of the first witches (handmaidens of salixa), seer attunement: seeing magic, Avessa after salixa's death, understanding fundamental exc + the void + price of immortality, becoming the angel maker, failing to save the witch bloodlines, watching emergence of the last witches: ronni

she made the music box: preservation of salixa's melody

when dove is unwound, the gossamer portion remains (portion of her own magic)

the most basic of magics come from the deepest of wills

teaching magic was meant to be taught down the bloodlines, but witch blood ran thin and magic grew to be hunted --> why a lot of witches don't know about their magical talent/attunement, loss of magic among mortals

the death of magic itself? waning of power?