Druidia
01-02-07, 09:41 PM
Name: Aesdana Ategenos
Age: 37
Race: Human
Appearance: Cloaked in a simple brown dress, her feet bare, Aesdana might once have been handsome as a girl, but her trials and tribulations have aged her. Her sun-kissed face is etched with the wrinkles of time, light but noticeable and her wild red hair is touched with gray streaks. Flowers and leaves are caught in the tresses, and her brown eyes are always bright with a strange, lonely light. She is average height, and on the thinner side.
Personality. She judge’s people’s status on the number of colors they wear, and status is very important to her. Polite to the point that sometimes she comes off as rude, she can be a keen observer, though to the common eye she is nothing more than a daydreamer. Her love for animals is such that she’s adopted a vegetarian lifestyle.
History: Many years ago, a night in the Month of the Quiet Moon was anything but. Deep snow and angry winds terrorized parts of northern Raiaera as the strange winter howled and screamed through the trees. In a small home of log and thatch, two figures huddled over a woman who lay on a bed. The soon-to-be mother screamed and howled with the winds outside, her pain permeating into the bones of those who coached her through labor. The midwives looked at one another, and back at the hugely distended belly of the mother. She’d grown bigger than any expected, and there had been the certainty for quite some time that she carried more than one little one within. As the hour of birth grew near, the father stalked to the window, raking his fingers through his hair as he stared outward. Something caught his eye in the snowstorm and he looked back at the midwives, pausing as if he wasn’t sure if he should try and get their attention. After a moment, he looked back into the whirling blank abyss that lay out the window. A man stood against one of the trees that lined the pathway to the home, a large dire bear crouched beside him. It looked as if the bear was shielding the man from the wind and snow, but the alliance was so bizarre to the father’s mind that he wanted to look away, reject the image. Instead, he turned back to his wife, covered in sweat, pain on her face.
After several hours, the first cry was brought into the world. Four more children followed, though two didn’t make it through the freezing night. At the dawn’s light, three girls survived, though the prospects looked slim. No milk would flow from their mother’s breasts, their hunger weakening them in the harsh winter night. As the dawn’s light kissed the snowy glade outside, the father again walked to the window. Still standing beneath the tree, the man and bear stood as if they hadn’t flinched during the entire night. The man was dressed in an earthy brown robe and a staff in his hand was adorned with antler pieces. Gathering his courage, the father invited the shaman in. The shaman could heal the mother’s body, he said, and she would produce the life-giving milk that was needed. All things, however, came at a price, and this was no different. In return for healing the mother’s body the shaman wanted one of the children as his apprentice. In particular, he had his eye on the smallest of the girls. It would require more care to keep her alive, the parents knew, so they gladly traded her for the insurance of survival for the mother and the two remaining children. The deal struck, the shaman began to work his magic.
The morning grew into evening when the shaman left the home, a small crying bundle in his hands. He traveled deep into the forest, until he came upon a lair. A mother wolf lay grieving inside, four still bodies huddled together. She nuzzled her dead pups, and showed little interest when the shaman slid into her den. He offered her the human girl, placing the baby against the wolf’s warm body. When at last he was sure that the babe would take the wolf’s milk, he left the lair, and retreated into the woods.
It was a year later when he returned amidst a quiet winter’s night, to take the child back. She was fitful when he pulled her from her “mother”, but she finally gave in, and let him take her back. That night, he washed her in water and salt, and passed her through the smoke of the incense. She was named Aesdana, and from that moment on, she was an apprentice shaman. As she grew into childhood and eventually womanhood, she worked diligently, living the life and lore of shamanism every moment of every day. She learned to walk the Otherworlds as easily as her master, and had a knack of speaking with the animals. When she was twenty years old, Nenadmim revealed his name to her and sent her out to the village she’d come from to heal. He told her that a war between feuding lords had ransacked the place, killing the young men who’d tried to defend it. In it’s most vulnerable times, a plague had swept through, robbing it of many survivors. She was to return to him, he told her, when her task was finished to her best ability but not before.
When she arrived, she set about her task with a zeal born of both the need to please Nenadmim and to honor the people she’d come from, even though they had embraced organized religion in the long years since the shaman had last walked among them. She worked tirelessly, only focusing on others that she could heal and paying no attention to her own spirit, growing weary and cracked from the horrors that she saw and combated every day. Ignoring the whispers of “witch” behind her back, she healed them as much as their fearful minds would allow her to. Three years passed until she finally had to admit that she had done all she could to help the people. Her sisters begged her to stay, and she agreed that she would stay for one more moon to rest. Her parents had perished from the sickness, but her sisters had survived. One had apprenticed under a doctor and had played a pivotal role in routing out the plague. Her other sister had done well enough to heal the spirits of the surviving soldiers with warm nights’ company for a small fee.
One night, as Aesdana walked through the town, reveling in the smell of the coming springtime, a drunken customer of her sister’s comforts pulled her into an alleyway. Mistaking her for her sister, he tried to force his needs upon her. Her cries were muffled with his searching mouth, and her combat left unfelt by the whiskey he’d drunk. In terror, she began to retreat into herself when a flash of movement caught her eye. The drunken man was shoved off of her, his cry of rage cut to a gurgling stop. A large wolf stood over his slain body, all white except for fine copper fur that covered it’s ears, and the blood from the man’s throat that marked it’s teeth. Within moments, it had vanished, moving into the darkness of the night like a dream.
Try as she might to explain to the townspeople what happened, there was none among them that believed the story of the ethereal dog. Even her sisters turned away, calling her a witch and a murderer. Still claiming her innocence, she met swift trial and conviction. The punishment laid down by the judge was hard, but clear. Death was called for, and none hesitated to put her in the stocks to wait while the gallows were readied. The events of the night, and the betrayal by her people were too much, and Aesdana’s soul began to shatter. By the time she realized the need for healing within herself, it was too late. Every time she tried to fall into the shamanic journey to the other worlds, she was snapped back violently by a loud noise or cold water. There was always someone watching, ready to keep the witch from falling into a cursing trance, they told her. When she was led to the scaffolding in early morning mists, it was merely a shadow of the woman who had first entered the town.
She was hung until dead, and her body thrown into the forest for the wolves. As the dark fell, and a full round moon rose above the treetops, wolves indeed did surround her body. They were not, however, the dark slavering creatures that the townspeople had hoped would dispose of her. Instead, they were all white, their scarlet ears glowing in the moonlight. They gathered close, as a tall man in regal dress watched from the darkness. As they nuzzled the woman’s still face, their breath seemed to enter her, and soon, her breast rose and fell with life. The shadow man disappeared as the wolves hung back. One by one, they lifted their faces to the moon and began to howl, soft and slow. A soulless body wouldn’t hold life for long, they knew, but they were not the beings that could bring her spirit back. After a white, they grew restless, until a light began to dance between the trees, glowing brighter as it came ever closer. A woman with a sad face and dark robing came near, holding out the lantern before her. She radiated a loneliness, and a few of the younger wolves tried to follow her movements, even as their elders quartered them off from her. She was a will o’ the wisp, and she leaned down to the living corpse, looking deep into the shaman’s eyes. She turned to the wolves, and uttered only one sentence to them, perhaps the only one she’d ever spoken.
“I will be repaid for this.”
With her words, she leaned over Aesdana again, and opened the side of her lantern. The dancing light that had mesmerized so many creatures before, leading them to an eternal lone wandering, glowed above her hand and as she touched the forehead and chest of the shaman, it began to pulse. The shaman took a deep breath, gasping in her strange sleep, and the light was taken into her mouth by the breath. The glow dimmed as she drank it in, and took it within herself. The will o’ the wisp nodded, seemingly pleased, and stood to leave. She gave the woman one last glance before she vanished as the man had done. The wolves worked together, hauling the woman’s body upon the back of the largest among them, and they ran through the night.
On the other side of the forest, they found the shaman Nenadmim sitting in wait for them. He had laid out a hide and around the edges, there were bowls of incense burning. He laid Aesdana down and sat by her, placing a sword between them. With his staff one hand and a large light-green crystal in the other, he slipped into the shamanic trance. As his consciousness came into the Underworld, he began to search for pieces of Aesdana’s soul. The first he found was as she was now, a grown woman. Her eyes, however, were guarded and she pulled back as he approached. He stopped, and waited, though she never relaxed. As he began to talk to her, he learned that this was a piece that had fragmented by the assault by the drunken man.
“Why should I trust you?” she asked, her voice shaken. “You are a man, all you think about is sex. I don’t want you near me.”
“Don’t you remember me, little Cailleach?” he asked softly, holding out a hand to her. “I wouldn’t harm you like that. You are like my own child, my own little self. Didn’t I keep you from harm?”
“But if I come back, I’ll be hurt again.” she said defiantly, though her resolve was crumbling even as she argued.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he said. “Every thing in life experiences hurt. But I promise that these little hurts of life won’t break you. You are far stronger than that, and you’ll see. And I will do what I can to keep you safe, too.”
“Promise?”
“Aesdana, part of being a shaman is being strong for yourself, being strong for those around you. We are healers above all.” With those words, she took his hand, and fell into the crystal he carried. His search went on. The next spirit fragment he found was at the base of the rainbow gateway to the Upperworld. It was as she was at that moment, the scars of the rope still red around her neck. Her eyes were filled with hate and she would not speak to him or see him, no matter what he said. That was a fragment he knew she would have to retrieve herself, and he stepped into the rainbow and let himself be taken to the higher places. There he found a child, searching under the rocks that lay by a fast-moving stream.
“What are you looking for, little one?” he asked, curiosity gracing his smile.
“I’m looking for my mother, the wolf.” she said, without looking at him. “I was taken from her and it hurt so much.”
“I’m sorry, little cailleach. I did not mean for my actions to hurt you so. You no longer needed her. Your time to join me was here.” It was then that she turned and met his eyes, a pout gracing her lips.
“I didn’t want to go. She was my comfort.”
“I know, little one. She is still in the forest, though she is an old wolf crone. If you come back, you can see her again.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, as she came closer.
“I promise. I will call her to you, but you must be back within your body.” She took his hand, and fell into the soul-catching crystal. He moved on, searching without much luck, until he caught sight of a large piece of Aesdana. Several visions of her danced together, holding hands with elves that chose to join her. As Nenadmim made his way, he found himself attacked. He fell back, and found himself facing a vision of Aesdana, though darkness seemed to clothe her like a shroud. He fell silent before her shadow self, and as it stood before him, daring him to come closer, he bowed, and left it. As he moved to the edge of the Upperworld, the white light of the world engulfed him and he found his way back into his body. Setting the crystal against her forehead and then her chest, he waited. It took two days, but she finally awoke from the strange slumber.
While two pieces of her soul had been restored, the rest of the void was filled with the light of the will o’ the wisp’s lantern light, and she was never quite the same. She moved through her days on the edge of madness, and it was with great sorrow that Nenadmim had to decide not to retrain her in the shamanic arts. For the next thirteen years, she worked as his assistant, until finally his old age caught up to him and he passed peacefully in his sleep, stepping into the Underworld for the last time.
He had specified where he should be buried many years previously, and the day she laid him to rest, she lay asleep upon his burial mound until she was woken from her sleep by a presence behind her. A beautiful woman stood at the edge of the mound, her hair floating behind her, a pale light radiating from her body.
“You must take back your soul, and take back your place as shaman.” she said. Aesdana stared, enthralled with the woman’s beauty, and confused by her words.
“I can’t do that. I’m too weak to heal anyone,” she finally said, her voice cracking.
“Little Cailleach, you can. You forget that the first healing a shaman must do is themselves. After all, your people are the Wounded Healers.”
“Wounded…”
“Yes, but healers none the less.”
The two stayed and paid their respects into the night and when the morning came and the moon hung low on the horizon, the woman was gone, leaving Aesdana with a puzzle and a mission.
Weapons/Armor: None
Other Items: None
Skills: Astral Projection - Shamanic journeys take place in astral planes away from this one. To go forth, the shaman must be able to reach the mental state to travel among them.
Spells: None
Familiars: {{All familiars must be gained through questing. Maximum familiars gained = 2(current level). Level 0 = Level 1. Both levels cannot see more than two familiars. Larger animals cannot be taken in multiples. For example, a small weasel clan of three could be taken at level 2, but even at level 10, a full pack of twenty wolves couldn’t be imprinted by mere mortals.}}
No Familiars at this time.
Otherworld Allies: {{These are “familiars” of sorts that can only be used in the Otherworlds. They have no physical attack power, and act as guides to shamanic journeys. Must be gained by questing in a shamanic trance. A very few have the ability to show up in the physical world and use mystical powers, but these are very rare. The same max limit per level as the familiars is applied here, but it should be noted that it is far more difficult to imprint Otherworld animals into becoming guides.}}
No Otherworld Allies at this time.
Age: 37
Race: Human
Appearance: Cloaked in a simple brown dress, her feet bare, Aesdana might once have been handsome as a girl, but her trials and tribulations have aged her. Her sun-kissed face is etched with the wrinkles of time, light but noticeable and her wild red hair is touched with gray streaks. Flowers and leaves are caught in the tresses, and her brown eyes are always bright with a strange, lonely light. She is average height, and on the thinner side.
Personality. She judge’s people’s status on the number of colors they wear, and status is very important to her. Polite to the point that sometimes she comes off as rude, she can be a keen observer, though to the common eye she is nothing more than a daydreamer. Her love for animals is such that she’s adopted a vegetarian lifestyle.
History: Many years ago, a night in the Month of the Quiet Moon was anything but. Deep snow and angry winds terrorized parts of northern Raiaera as the strange winter howled and screamed through the trees. In a small home of log and thatch, two figures huddled over a woman who lay on a bed. The soon-to-be mother screamed and howled with the winds outside, her pain permeating into the bones of those who coached her through labor. The midwives looked at one another, and back at the hugely distended belly of the mother. She’d grown bigger than any expected, and there had been the certainty for quite some time that she carried more than one little one within. As the hour of birth grew near, the father stalked to the window, raking his fingers through his hair as he stared outward. Something caught his eye in the snowstorm and he looked back at the midwives, pausing as if he wasn’t sure if he should try and get their attention. After a moment, he looked back into the whirling blank abyss that lay out the window. A man stood against one of the trees that lined the pathway to the home, a large dire bear crouched beside him. It looked as if the bear was shielding the man from the wind and snow, but the alliance was so bizarre to the father’s mind that he wanted to look away, reject the image. Instead, he turned back to his wife, covered in sweat, pain on her face.
After several hours, the first cry was brought into the world. Four more children followed, though two didn’t make it through the freezing night. At the dawn’s light, three girls survived, though the prospects looked slim. No milk would flow from their mother’s breasts, their hunger weakening them in the harsh winter night. As the dawn’s light kissed the snowy glade outside, the father again walked to the window. Still standing beneath the tree, the man and bear stood as if they hadn’t flinched during the entire night. The man was dressed in an earthy brown robe and a staff in his hand was adorned with antler pieces. Gathering his courage, the father invited the shaman in. The shaman could heal the mother’s body, he said, and she would produce the life-giving milk that was needed. All things, however, came at a price, and this was no different. In return for healing the mother’s body the shaman wanted one of the children as his apprentice. In particular, he had his eye on the smallest of the girls. It would require more care to keep her alive, the parents knew, so they gladly traded her for the insurance of survival for the mother and the two remaining children. The deal struck, the shaman began to work his magic.
The morning grew into evening when the shaman left the home, a small crying bundle in his hands. He traveled deep into the forest, until he came upon a lair. A mother wolf lay grieving inside, four still bodies huddled together. She nuzzled her dead pups, and showed little interest when the shaman slid into her den. He offered her the human girl, placing the baby against the wolf’s warm body. When at last he was sure that the babe would take the wolf’s milk, he left the lair, and retreated into the woods.
It was a year later when he returned amidst a quiet winter’s night, to take the child back. She was fitful when he pulled her from her “mother”, but she finally gave in, and let him take her back. That night, he washed her in water and salt, and passed her through the smoke of the incense. She was named Aesdana, and from that moment on, she was an apprentice shaman. As she grew into childhood and eventually womanhood, she worked diligently, living the life and lore of shamanism every moment of every day. She learned to walk the Otherworlds as easily as her master, and had a knack of speaking with the animals. When she was twenty years old, Nenadmim revealed his name to her and sent her out to the village she’d come from to heal. He told her that a war between feuding lords had ransacked the place, killing the young men who’d tried to defend it. In it’s most vulnerable times, a plague had swept through, robbing it of many survivors. She was to return to him, he told her, when her task was finished to her best ability but not before.
When she arrived, she set about her task with a zeal born of both the need to please Nenadmim and to honor the people she’d come from, even though they had embraced organized religion in the long years since the shaman had last walked among them. She worked tirelessly, only focusing on others that she could heal and paying no attention to her own spirit, growing weary and cracked from the horrors that she saw and combated every day. Ignoring the whispers of “witch” behind her back, she healed them as much as their fearful minds would allow her to. Three years passed until she finally had to admit that she had done all she could to help the people. Her sisters begged her to stay, and she agreed that she would stay for one more moon to rest. Her parents had perished from the sickness, but her sisters had survived. One had apprenticed under a doctor and had played a pivotal role in routing out the plague. Her other sister had done well enough to heal the spirits of the surviving soldiers with warm nights’ company for a small fee.
One night, as Aesdana walked through the town, reveling in the smell of the coming springtime, a drunken customer of her sister’s comforts pulled her into an alleyway. Mistaking her for her sister, he tried to force his needs upon her. Her cries were muffled with his searching mouth, and her combat left unfelt by the whiskey he’d drunk. In terror, she began to retreat into herself when a flash of movement caught her eye. The drunken man was shoved off of her, his cry of rage cut to a gurgling stop. A large wolf stood over his slain body, all white except for fine copper fur that covered it’s ears, and the blood from the man’s throat that marked it’s teeth. Within moments, it had vanished, moving into the darkness of the night like a dream.
Try as she might to explain to the townspeople what happened, there was none among them that believed the story of the ethereal dog. Even her sisters turned away, calling her a witch and a murderer. Still claiming her innocence, she met swift trial and conviction. The punishment laid down by the judge was hard, but clear. Death was called for, and none hesitated to put her in the stocks to wait while the gallows were readied. The events of the night, and the betrayal by her people were too much, and Aesdana’s soul began to shatter. By the time she realized the need for healing within herself, it was too late. Every time she tried to fall into the shamanic journey to the other worlds, she was snapped back violently by a loud noise or cold water. There was always someone watching, ready to keep the witch from falling into a cursing trance, they told her. When she was led to the scaffolding in early morning mists, it was merely a shadow of the woman who had first entered the town.
She was hung until dead, and her body thrown into the forest for the wolves. As the dark fell, and a full round moon rose above the treetops, wolves indeed did surround her body. They were not, however, the dark slavering creatures that the townspeople had hoped would dispose of her. Instead, they were all white, their scarlet ears glowing in the moonlight. They gathered close, as a tall man in regal dress watched from the darkness. As they nuzzled the woman’s still face, their breath seemed to enter her, and soon, her breast rose and fell with life. The shadow man disappeared as the wolves hung back. One by one, they lifted their faces to the moon and began to howl, soft and slow. A soulless body wouldn’t hold life for long, they knew, but they were not the beings that could bring her spirit back. After a white, they grew restless, until a light began to dance between the trees, glowing brighter as it came ever closer. A woman with a sad face and dark robing came near, holding out the lantern before her. She radiated a loneliness, and a few of the younger wolves tried to follow her movements, even as their elders quartered them off from her. She was a will o’ the wisp, and she leaned down to the living corpse, looking deep into the shaman’s eyes. She turned to the wolves, and uttered only one sentence to them, perhaps the only one she’d ever spoken.
“I will be repaid for this.”
With her words, she leaned over Aesdana again, and opened the side of her lantern. The dancing light that had mesmerized so many creatures before, leading them to an eternal lone wandering, glowed above her hand and as she touched the forehead and chest of the shaman, it began to pulse. The shaman took a deep breath, gasping in her strange sleep, and the light was taken into her mouth by the breath. The glow dimmed as she drank it in, and took it within herself. The will o’ the wisp nodded, seemingly pleased, and stood to leave. She gave the woman one last glance before she vanished as the man had done. The wolves worked together, hauling the woman’s body upon the back of the largest among them, and they ran through the night.
On the other side of the forest, they found the shaman Nenadmim sitting in wait for them. He had laid out a hide and around the edges, there were bowls of incense burning. He laid Aesdana down and sat by her, placing a sword between them. With his staff one hand and a large light-green crystal in the other, he slipped into the shamanic trance. As his consciousness came into the Underworld, he began to search for pieces of Aesdana’s soul. The first he found was as she was now, a grown woman. Her eyes, however, were guarded and she pulled back as he approached. He stopped, and waited, though she never relaxed. As he began to talk to her, he learned that this was a piece that had fragmented by the assault by the drunken man.
“Why should I trust you?” she asked, her voice shaken. “You are a man, all you think about is sex. I don’t want you near me.”
“Don’t you remember me, little Cailleach?” he asked softly, holding out a hand to her. “I wouldn’t harm you like that. You are like my own child, my own little self. Didn’t I keep you from harm?”
“But if I come back, I’ll be hurt again.” she said defiantly, though her resolve was crumbling even as she argued.
“Perhaps, perhaps not,” he said. “Every thing in life experiences hurt. But I promise that these little hurts of life won’t break you. You are far stronger than that, and you’ll see. And I will do what I can to keep you safe, too.”
“Promise?”
“Aesdana, part of being a shaman is being strong for yourself, being strong for those around you. We are healers above all.” With those words, she took his hand, and fell into the crystal he carried. His search went on. The next spirit fragment he found was at the base of the rainbow gateway to the Upperworld. It was as she was at that moment, the scars of the rope still red around her neck. Her eyes were filled with hate and she would not speak to him or see him, no matter what he said. That was a fragment he knew she would have to retrieve herself, and he stepped into the rainbow and let himself be taken to the higher places. There he found a child, searching under the rocks that lay by a fast-moving stream.
“What are you looking for, little one?” he asked, curiosity gracing his smile.
“I’m looking for my mother, the wolf.” she said, without looking at him. “I was taken from her and it hurt so much.”
“I’m sorry, little cailleach. I did not mean for my actions to hurt you so. You no longer needed her. Your time to join me was here.” It was then that she turned and met his eyes, a pout gracing her lips.
“I didn’t want to go. She was my comfort.”
“I know, little one. She is still in the forest, though she is an old wolf crone. If you come back, you can see her again.”
“Do you promise?” she asked, as she came closer.
“I promise. I will call her to you, but you must be back within your body.” She took his hand, and fell into the soul-catching crystal. He moved on, searching without much luck, until he caught sight of a large piece of Aesdana. Several visions of her danced together, holding hands with elves that chose to join her. As Nenadmim made his way, he found himself attacked. He fell back, and found himself facing a vision of Aesdana, though darkness seemed to clothe her like a shroud. He fell silent before her shadow self, and as it stood before him, daring him to come closer, he bowed, and left it. As he moved to the edge of the Upperworld, the white light of the world engulfed him and he found his way back into his body. Setting the crystal against her forehead and then her chest, he waited. It took two days, but she finally awoke from the strange slumber.
While two pieces of her soul had been restored, the rest of the void was filled with the light of the will o’ the wisp’s lantern light, and she was never quite the same. She moved through her days on the edge of madness, and it was with great sorrow that Nenadmim had to decide not to retrain her in the shamanic arts. For the next thirteen years, she worked as his assistant, until finally his old age caught up to him and he passed peacefully in his sleep, stepping into the Underworld for the last time.
He had specified where he should be buried many years previously, and the day she laid him to rest, she lay asleep upon his burial mound until she was woken from her sleep by a presence behind her. A beautiful woman stood at the edge of the mound, her hair floating behind her, a pale light radiating from her body.
“You must take back your soul, and take back your place as shaman.” she said. Aesdana stared, enthralled with the woman’s beauty, and confused by her words.
“I can’t do that. I’m too weak to heal anyone,” she finally said, her voice cracking.
“Little Cailleach, you can. You forget that the first healing a shaman must do is themselves. After all, your people are the Wounded Healers.”
“Wounded…”
“Yes, but healers none the less.”
The two stayed and paid their respects into the night and when the morning came and the moon hung low on the horizon, the woman was gone, leaving Aesdana with a puzzle and a mission.
Weapons/Armor: None
Other Items: None
Skills: Astral Projection - Shamanic journeys take place in astral planes away from this one. To go forth, the shaman must be able to reach the mental state to travel among them.
Spells: None
Familiars: {{All familiars must be gained through questing. Maximum familiars gained = 2(current level). Level 0 = Level 1. Both levels cannot see more than two familiars. Larger animals cannot be taken in multiples. For example, a small weasel clan of three could be taken at level 2, but even at level 10, a full pack of twenty wolves couldn’t be imprinted by mere mortals.}}
No Familiars at this time.
Otherworld Allies: {{These are “familiars” of sorts that can only be used in the Otherworlds. They have no physical attack power, and act as guides to shamanic journeys. Must be gained by questing in a shamanic trance. A very few have the ability to show up in the physical world and use mystical powers, but these are very rare. The same max limit per level as the familiars is applied here, but it should be noted that it is far more difficult to imprint Otherworld animals into becoming guides.}}
No Otherworld Allies at this time.