Private Madra in the Myrkviðr

[Scàth Mhaolàin]

All throughout the grove, the creatures of the forest sung their stories for those willing to listen. Birds were roosting in the boughs far above on their eggs, the chittering of arboreal rodents as they darted to and fro, too fast for the eye to see anything but the flicking of grass and leaves to mark their passage, even the trees themselves groaned as they shifted in the wind, whispering stories from history beyond sentient understanding.

Taking a deep breath, Scàth began to blow into the reed flute that he carried, the tunes starting quietly to ensure it didn’t start any of the wildlife, but slowly building. Soon, the lilting notes joined alongside the calls of the creatures as the Sayormi sang his greetings to this planets Worldsoul, offering his thanks for allowing him to traverse its paths and in turn announcing his arrival, in case it had any tasks that it would require of him.


He sang to the birds, messengers of the world, carrying forth the tales of the trees from grove to grove, to the trees, their vigil spanning centuries as they watched over the planet and its people, societies growing and falling too quick to notice by their measure of time, to the insects, beneath the ground, the real rulers of the planet for they outnumbered any of the other inhabitants 100 to 1. Finally, he sang to the fungi, the mushrooms, the moulds and the moss, often overlooked in the tales of the forests but it was they who ensured that there was a fertile foundation to grow upon, that the souls of any who left their physical shells here were absorbed back into the world soul.

Upon reading within the Mandragora library of Skógur Heim, Scàth had petitioned the Nightmother to allow him to journey there, to walk it’s paths and commune with those who dwelled there. The people of the world were of a fascination to the Sayormi, for his passion was to view how the magicks and spirits of different ecosystems changed and moulded the flora and fauna that lived alongside them. For a sentient species to not only have a natural ability to change their form to one of a predatory hunter, but for them to remain in harmony with the spirits of the world around them also?!


Grinning between breaths, Scàth continued to play. How could I possible resist such a call? Do they share their form with a Wolf-spirit perhaps? Allowing it to come to the forefront when they make the change? Is it a natural adaptation that means they need access to two distinct forms, not an amalgamation of the two!?

These were all the questions that were at the forefront of his mind, but before he could do anything, ritual must be adhered to. And so, he continued to play, hoping to entice any of the spirits of the forest to join him and for the Worldsoul of this beautiful planet to give him it’s blessing.

TAGS: Alvida Osulf

 

[Alvida Osulf]

The wind whipped through her midnight black fur, rippling in waves from the top of her head to the tip of her tail as she bounded through the forests. In this form, she was one with nature. One with the Gods. Her claws ripped through the undergrowth with each step, leaving deep trenches in her wake and shrouding her in the earthy scent of freshly overturned dirt. With the pace, she kept it was no wonder the wolf was panting. Deep, heavy breathes that disturbed the fauna resting in trees. Birds scattered into the clear blue sky the minute they caught wind of it, and the ones grazing at the lush green grass scarpered at the rhythmic sound of her pawns thumping into the ground.

Alvida didn’t mind, and nor did the wolf. They weren’t here to hunt. They were simply here to run.

Vibrant shades of green danced across her coat as she dived in and out of the sunlight that managed to break through the canopy. The sounds of the forest surrounded her on all sides. The rustling of the leaves, the whistling of the wind, the tweeting of birds, the shifting of the undergrowth, the… playing of a flute? The wolf skidded to a halt, digging its sharp talons into the dirt to gain purchase. The beautiful mysterious melody played in sweet tones made her ears twitch, first to make sure that she had heard correctly, then to locate the direction it was coming from. It wasn’t loud by any means. It was only thanks to the wind that she had heard it. Even despite her enhanced hearing, she could only just make out the notes. After a few moments of intense straining, Alvida finally locked onto the direction it was coming from. Both she had the wolf decided simultaneously that it was worth exploring, so they started off at a trot towards it.

When it grew louder, she slowed to a crawl. In stark contrast to the noisy sprint the wolf had spurred before, her paws barely made a sound on the loose earth below. The grove just ahead was open, free from the thick of most of the trees though still shaded by the green canopy above. In the centre, and the clear source of the music, was a man. Alvida stuck to the treeline, pacing around it to catch glimpses of him between the thick trunks. He didn’t seem threatening, nor did he project an air of malice. In fact, he seemed quite in tune with mother nature as she played her own sweet music in tandem with his. When she finally came round the grove in full circle, back to where she could see his face in its entirety, Alvida’s head was swimming with questions. Of course, she could simply turn and leave. She’d heard the tales of forest men living out here, she’d heard the tales of tricky demigods and even slyer demons, but this man seemed to be none of those. He wasn’t one of the Dúsúndir, that was for sure, and he definitely wasn’t one of her own…

From between the trees just in front of the man, a set of large sky-blue eyes emerged. Followed by the wolf itself. A beast with jet black fur that seemed to swallow the light around it.

”Who are you?” Though the animal itself did not speak, Alvida’s voice was projected through the clearing. Though her tone was high and sweet she spoke with a softness that only the wind blowing through the leaves could match. As though her voice belonged to the forests as much as her body did. The wolf advanced, in the most unthreatening manner a beast of its size could manage. ”A stranger?” The wolf’s eyes narrowed, giving its face an almost human-like quality as it gazed over his form. He looked like he belonged here. The moonlight skin, the bark brown beard, the ice blue eyes… No. Not ice blue. As he gazed back at her the sunlight broke through the canopy and illuminated his face in a pure yellow glow. One was blue. As blue as the seas that stretched over a large portion of Skógur Heim, the other was green. Emerald green.

However, as she stepped closer, it was the markings upon his skin that intrigued her more. Etched in ink that had faded and turned a washed-out shade of blue. Alvida didn’t recognize them as runes. Nor did she recognize them as any markings as the rituals performed by the seers living on Dyr Gudis. He can’t have come from anywhere on Skógur Heim. Were they markings just like hers? Sacred? A sign to show people they were gifted? Was he just like her? ”What are you doing here?” The wolf asked her final question and lowered her back half to sit down, with a few feet of distance remaining between herself and the stranger. She would change forms eventually, but for now, she liked the safety the wolf provided.

Scàth Mhaolàin ​

 

[Scàth Mhaolàin]

Alvida Osulf

Eyes closed as the continued his melody, Scáth felt his thoughts begin to detach from his physical body, the environment around him beginning to blur and warp slowly as his consciousness began to slowly unravel from the material realm and bleed into the spiritual.

Many of the Mandragora utilised different methods of meditation and relaxation during their rites, whether it be chanting a mantra slowly, their thoughts remaining fixed and disciplined while chaos reigned around them, or , there were those who utilised various herbs and the like to assist in their transition.

The Sayormis’ preferred method was to create a fire from kindling taken from your direct environment and to utilise various herbs and fungi in the burning, inhaling the fumes and allowing the smoke itself to billow you into a spiritual journey.

But, this Worldsoul speaks to me, not in the sluggish tones the witch-fire allows but in song, in happiness and pride.

Each and every Worldsoul was different, some were belligerent spirits that would lash out at any who attempted a communion with it, quakes and eruptions and the like, others were welcoming, the soft breeze caressing as you as you walked, questing and searching for your intentions. This planet, it’s true nature is uncertain. I feel you watch me, like a hawk over it’s meadow, seeing my movements and choosing whether to strike or to allow me to continue, but I hear your song also. I hear you cry out, joy and sorrow, anger and apathy, all contained within your song. What would you ask of me?

”Who are you? A stranger?”

Almost on cue, the voice rang out clearly, almost intermingling with the tune of the pipe as well, filling a brief moment of silence as Scáth inhaled before continuing. Opening his eyes slowly, he turned and found himself looking up a Wolf sitting nearby, not aggressively approaching but watching what looked like a wary curiosity. Grinning, the Sayormi continued to slowly play his song, noticing that the beast had not spoken aloud but instead, the words seemed to form slowly within his mind.

The Wolf was stunning in its purity and even to one such as he who had seen the glories of the Mandragora menagerie had to take a moment to admire it. Upon Kashyyyk, the majority of the predators there were either felines, stalking throughout the underbrush or insects, within burrows and webs. There were no open plains or pathways for any pack creatures to pursue their prey, not herbivores that could be harrayed down through the co-ordination of the pack. I wonder if within the packs and dens of beasts, does sadness exist? Does worry, anxiety or hatred exist? Or is it the purity of a life fulfilled? Of a life where the only concern is survival and to celebrate upon seeing another rising son?

As the song slowly grew in strength, the Sayormi’s connection to the spiritual grew with it and he slowly began to see a shimmering image behind the canine, a woman? Two spirits within the one vessel?

”What are you doing here?

Without missing a beat, Scáth allowed the thoughts to drift to the forefront of his mind, ensuring that he continued to play, for all throughout the trees he could see the slow movement of curious sprites and spirits watching curiously, and to have stopped the song before it’s completion could anger them, with disastrous results.

“Beannachtaí Cara, Indeed, I am a traveller to this land. I am singing to the spirits of this forest. Would you sing along with me?”

 

[Alvida Osulf]

The music made her ears twitch, just as the gentle breeze made them twitch. They moulded together perfectly, as though they were one. This man had lived in nature before, had tried to become part of it, though Alvida was certain it wasn’t the spirit of this forest in his soul. She could see how he relaxed, how he allowed it all to shroud him in the beauty of mother nature.

“You will not find spirits here…” Her basic was a little broken and thick with a foreign accent. “They do not live in this forest.” The wolf tilted its head, giving the man a curious gaze with its haunting azure eyes. There was something animalistic about them, something raw and instinctual and untapped, despite the actions of the wolf being extremely human in nature. Alvida and the wolf threw an arm into the air, bidding the man to wait there a moment with the overly large paw. It looked extremely awkward on a beast of such stature, but the minute she was sure he understood her meaning, it trotted off to behind the nearest tree.

Once the black fur had disappeared from sight, Alvida spoke again. “I have never heard of anyone singing to spirits.” As her words mingled with the notes of the flute, another sound filled the grove. An unnatural cracking sound that vaguely resembled breaking bones. The birds didn’t seem to mind it, nor did the rest of the fauna that surrounded them, they were used to this sound by now. When the cracking finally stopped, and the wolf had calmed itself, Alvida stepped out from behind the tree. A woman now, not a beast. Naked as the day she had arrived, but she didn’t seem to mind. “My name is Alvida, and this is my forest…” Instead of her voice being projected out into his mind, it was thrown into the breeze, a real voice that had a honey-sweet tone.

If the Gods had anything to say about him, negative or otherwise, they would have done so by now. Alvida took their silence as a good sign. “If you wish to meet spirits, I can show you where they live.” Alvida lent against the trunk of the tree she had just shifted behind, her pale milk-white arms folded across her middle. The seers of Dyr Gudis would likely be livid that she brought another stranger to sacred ground, but this was part in parcel of being involved with the galaxy. Strangers would come, with their curiosity and their questions, and Alvida would always be there to answer.

Always.

Scàth Mhaolàin ​

 

[Scàth Mhaolàin]

As the creature before him began to pace, Scáth stared into it’s eyes, the intelligence behind them confirming any suspicious he had that the creature was a mere natural oddity, that whatever union of lupine and human had occurred within the spiritual realm was not some strange happenstance but that the pair were one and the one was the pair.

Watching the creature throw a paw up into the air, the Sayormi grinned at seeing the creature perform the action, such a humanoid gesture, performed by a body unbuilt for anything of the kind. As the creature walked away, Scáth resumed his playing, even as the sound of bones breaking and shifting began to fill the glade, the sharp tones of his flute changing the lilting song of the forest to a deep dirge, the sound of bones cracking joining to create a tune dedicated to the purity of the hunter, the sacrifice of the prey and the ever continuing cycle of life played out across the universe. As the sounds of bone cracking ceased, so to did the Sayormi cease his song.

“Neither have I really heard of a song for the spirits either. But, I would not deny the chance to sing to them all the same, perhaps they will join in? Perhaps they will scorn my song, and I will never sing to them again. I know not.”

From behind the tree now paced a woman but everything about her other than the skin she wore was that of the Wolf. With the way she walked, each pace a confident, measured stalk, the same predatory gleam within her eyes, the Sayormi was aware he was in the presence of another hunter.

Just beyond her, he thought he caught a glance of a translucent wolf, her spiritual presence split between the two, it’s presence still felt. Within his own tribe, the clothing they wore was often limited to leather pouches, every other part of their body was often exposed, nothing more than sacred ash covering them from the elements. It seemed that here, the natural order of things was strong.

It’s just like home.

Nodding his head again, Scáth smiled, placing his flute down.

Beannachtaí to you Alvida, your forest is a thing of beauty. I am named Scáth, once of the Deadwood paths of Kashyyyk, now of the Mandragora. I rarely see such a world, one still so pure…I wished to walk its surface, commune with it. I hope I have not intruded.”


Alvida Osulf