Ælfgafu
06-09-09, 01:40 PM
Name: Ælfgafu
Age: 107, though youthful-seeming
Race: Elf
Hair Color: Red
Eye Color: Brown, glowing
Height: 5ft. 2in.
Weight:95 lbs.
Occupation: Minor fertility Goddess
Personality: Once a creature of light, Ælfgafu is now a child of darkness. Internally she is very guarded, reserved, and warily cautious of most. She has long suffered the taste of betrayal in her mouth. However, on a superficial level she is seductively beautiful and charming. There aren't many who find her disagreeable, pleasing, and even less who fail to be touched by a sense of lightheartedness which seems to radiate out from her being. They know not of what she has suffered.
Appearance: The first thing that captures ones attention is her eyes. They beam and sparkle with light in pleasant contrast to the symmetric raven tattoos darkening each side of her face. She has a mesmerizing and seductive stare, though this is also a vulnerability as it may reveal the torture of her soul.
History: A song told in story form...
The villagers were suffering a winter without end, a season of blowing granular ice and frosty winds. The clouds floated, heavy, nestled between the ridges of looming mountains. The bears were emaciated, their supplies were exhausted, and the common folk were frightened. Naturally, they looked to the fertility gods and goddesses for help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My training had begun earlier in the year just before Beltaine, festival of the Fire of Creation, as an apprentice under the great elf Deirdre. My classrooms were the glades of the forests, where Deirdre taught me to observe the wisdom of the trees. She said, "When elves were vapor, trees were also as vapor. The forests are older than memory and time is stored in their roots and branches. It is the nature of trees to be generous, so open yourself and be still. Receive what the impart."
From Deirdre I learned that the Source is the single and singular force of creation, yet has many faces. Mountain and forest and river, bird and bear and boar, each reveals a different mood, a different aspect. Each is therefor a symbol of the one Source, but we reverence these nature gods separately with individual rites, showing that we understand and respect the diversity of creation. Every entity must be free to be itself.
I learned to listen to the trees.
Deirdre taught me about spirits, about the pattern they make. "I am not certain of the pattern myself," I admitted. "You speak of it so often. But just what is it?"
Deirdre pointed toward the interplay of light and shadow among the branches above us. "There is the pattern. From star to tree to insect to moon, each fragment of creation is part of one design, the pattern of being, that extends unbroken from the Other world to this world. The pattern is constantly in motion, connecting us in life and in death."
"Noise is sound and sound is structure and structure is pattern," Deirdre told me.
"The harmony that holds the stars on their courses and the flesh on our bones resonates throughout all creation. Every sound contains an echo. Before there were elves, or even forest, there was sound. Sound spread from the Source in great circles like those formed when a stone is dropped into a pool.
"We follow waves of sound from life to life. Even the ears of one dying still hear long after their eyes are blind. They hears the sound that leads them to his next life as the Source plucks the harp of creation.
"Energy is the life force and it flows through everything created by the Source, even through stone. The trees, always our teachers, sink their roots into the soil and draw out energy. Life. Take off your boots as we walk and feel the earth with your bare feet. Feel, as you have learned to hear."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometime after the moon disappeared behind the sacred grove, a wind arose. The trees became its instruments. It played them with undulating volume, with sweeping susurrations of sound, with a great plumy movement billowing through, sighing away. Each tree had a voice. Oaks creaked, beeches moaned, pines hummed, alders whispered, and poplars chattered.
I lay absolutely still, drowning in sound. I lay upon the alter as part of a ritual to turn the wheel of seasons towards Spring, my senses dazzled by the the beauty of existence.
Then everything came together.
I was caught up in the rhythm of dance, ecstatic and sublime, that had been going on long before there was any such being as myself. I was dissolving into wind and moss and leaves, into a rabbit huddled in her burrow, into an owl swimming through the night on silent wings.
Water rolled down my cheeks. Perhaps rain. Perhaps tears summoned by beauty.
The night sang. The earth smelled of rotting wood and tender shoots in darkness, feeding on decomposition, death and birth together in the pattern, one springing from the other.
Both in me. Both of me. I of them. I was the earth and the night and the rain, suspended in the apex of being. There was no time, no sound, no sight, no need of them.
I was.
Rapture.
When I awoke I felt the sun shining on my face and smiled. It's warmth radiated down to the core.
It was the last pleasant feeling that I remember having.
It was just after that first moment of welcoming Spring that I heard a lone raven mourning and felt the silence permeate the grove. When I opened my eyes there was nothing left. No trees, no birds, no elves, no sprites,no whippoorwhils, not even any dung beetles rolling around little balls of poop. Nothing.
It was then that the darkness crept inside, took hold of my heart and squeezed. A large portion of my soul had been ripped out and all that was left were stumps, the smell of diesel, and a single raven in mourning...
There was no turning back for me, not yet, perhaps not ever.
================================================== ================
Skills:
Archery - Good with a longbow. Very accurate shot close range (up to ~40 ft. {average shot ~60 ft.}), though shots are not of a high velocity.
Fertility Spell - Used to increase the ability of seeds to germinate, and accellerate the processes of life
Song Magic - Currently she only knows one song, that of her history, a memory of a world in balance. This gives her a strong sense of identity, but as of yet, nothing else. Perhaps as she progresses she will come to understand more songs and learn how to use them to her advantage.
Spell of Seduction - She can use this influential spell to allure and entice weak-minded opponents and mildly influence their behaviors. She can also gently tip the scale of their decision making process in her favor.
Equipment:
Two small silver daggers sheathed in each leather boot
Cloak
Jewelry: Thin silver necklace with moon symbol, Moon and owl talon earrings
Small leather pouch with 10 grams of dried/powdered poisonous mushroom
Self bow: Longbow of mulberry wood, quiver holding arrows with tips of obsidian with a seed carefully lashed onto each one.
Familiars: A raven - travel companion.
Age: 107, though youthful-seeming
Race: Elf
Hair Color: Red
Eye Color: Brown, glowing
Height: 5ft. 2in.
Weight:95 lbs.
Occupation: Minor fertility Goddess
Personality: Once a creature of light, Ælfgafu is now a child of darkness. Internally she is very guarded, reserved, and warily cautious of most. She has long suffered the taste of betrayal in her mouth. However, on a superficial level she is seductively beautiful and charming. There aren't many who find her disagreeable, pleasing, and even less who fail to be touched by a sense of lightheartedness which seems to radiate out from her being. They know not of what she has suffered.
Appearance: The first thing that captures ones attention is her eyes. They beam and sparkle with light in pleasant contrast to the symmetric raven tattoos darkening each side of her face. She has a mesmerizing and seductive stare, though this is also a vulnerability as it may reveal the torture of her soul.
History: A song told in story form...
The villagers were suffering a winter without end, a season of blowing granular ice and frosty winds. The clouds floated, heavy, nestled between the ridges of looming mountains. The bears were emaciated, their supplies were exhausted, and the common folk were frightened. Naturally, they looked to the fertility gods and goddesses for help.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My training had begun earlier in the year just before Beltaine, festival of the Fire of Creation, as an apprentice under the great elf Deirdre. My classrooms were the glades of the forests, where Deirdre taught me to observe the wisdom of the trees. She said, "When elves were vapor, trees were also as vapor. The forests are older than memory and time is stored in their roots and branches. It is the nature of trees to be generous, so open yourself and be still. Receive what the impart."
From Deirdre I learned that the Source is the single and singular force of creation, yet has many faces. Mountain and forest and river, bird and bear and boar, each reveals a different mood, a different aspect. Each is therefor a symbol of the one Source, but we reverence these nature gods separately with individual rites, showing that we understand and respect the diversity of creation. Every entity must be free to be itself.
I learned to listen to the trees.
Deirdre taught me about spirits, about the pattern they make. "I am not certain of the pattern myself," I admitted. "You speak of it so often. But just what is it?"
Deirdre pointed toward the interplay of light and shadow among the branches above us. "There is the pattern. From star to tree to insect to moon, each fragment of creation is part of one design, the pattern of being, that extends unbroken from the Other world to this world. The pattern is constantly in motion, connecting us in life and in death."
"Noise is sound and sound is structure and structure is pattern," Deirdre told me.
"The harmony that holds the stars on their courses and the flesh on our bones resonates throughout all creation. Every sound contains an echo. Before there were elves, or even forest, there was sound. Sound spread from the Source in great circles like those formed when a stone is dropped into a pool.
"We follow waves of sound from life to life. Even the ears of one dying still hear long after their eyes are blind. They hears the sound that leads them to his next life as the Source plucks the harp of creation.
"Energy is the life force and it flows through everything created by the Source, even through stone. The trees, always our teachers, sink their roots into the soil and draw out energy. Life. Take off your boots as we walk and feel the earth with your bare feet. Feel, as you have learned to hear."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sometime after the moon disappeared behind the sacred grove, a wind arose. The trees became its instruments. It played them with undulating volume, with sweeping susurrations of sound, with a great plumy movement billowing through, sighing away. Each tree had a voice. Oaks creaked, beeches moaned, pines hummed, alders whispered, and poplars chattered.
I lay absolutely still, drowning in sound. I lay upon the alter as part of a ritual to turn the wheel of seasons towards Spring, my senses dazzled by the the beauty of existence.
Then everything came together.
I was caught up in the rhythm of dance, ecstatic and sublime, that had been going on long before there was any such being as myself. I was dissolving into wind and moss and leaves, into a rabbit huddled in her burrow, into an owl swimming through the night on silent wings.
Water rolled down my cheeks. Perhaps rain. Perhaps tears summoned by beauty.
The night sang. The earth smelled of rotting wood and tender shoots in darkness, feeding on decomposition, death and birth together in the pattern, one springing from the other.
Both in me. Both of me. I of them. I was the earth and the night and the rain, suspended in the apex of being. There was no time, no sound, no sight, no need of them.
I was.
Rapture.
When I awoke I felt the sun shining on my face and smiled. It's warmth radiated down to the core.
It was the last pleasant feeling that I remember having.
It was just after that first moment of welcoming Spring that I heard a lone raven mourning and felt the silence permeate the grove. When I opened my eyes there was nothing left. No trees, no birds, no elves, no sprites,no whippoorwhils, not even any dung beetles rolling around little balls of poop. Nothing.
It was then that the darkness crept inside, took hold of my heart and squeezed. A large portion of my soul had been ripped out and all that was left were stumps, the smell of diesel, and a single raven in mourning...
There was no turning back for me, not yet, perhaps not ever.
================================================== ================
Skills:
Archery - Good with a longbow. Very accurate shot close range (up to ~40 ft. {average shot ~60 ft.}), though shots are not of a high velocity.
Fertility Spell - Used to increase the ability of seeds to germinate, and accellerate the processes of life
Song Magic - Currently she only knows one song, that of her history, a memory of a world in balance. This gives her a strong sense of identity, but as of yet, nothing else. Perhaps as she progresses she will come to understand more songs and learn how to use them to her advantage.
Spell of Seduction - She can use this influential spell to allure and entice weak-minded opponents and mildly influence their behaviors. She can also gently tip the scale of their decision making process in her favor.
Equipment:
Two small silver daggers sheathed in each leather boot
Cloak
Jewelry: Thin silver necklace with moon symbol, Moon and owl talon earrings
Small leather pouch with 10 grams of dried/powdered poisonous mushroom
Self bow: Longbow of mulberry wood, quiver holding arrows with tips of obsidian with a seed carefully lashed onto each one.
Familiars: A raven - travel companion.