#𝐊𝐎𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐈 : an independent, selective, and deeply private multimuse archive devoted to original characters born of myth, steel, & ruin. est. 6.21.20. || mutuals only · 21+ to interact · do not follow unless you seek genuine connection. Personals, kindly refrain. content warning: violence, bloodshed, divine conflict, sensuality, trauma, death, grief, & immortality. penned by boba / outlaw · 27 · she/her · pst.
A STUDY IN : mortals who rage against their makers, giants who forget how to rest, captains who command the storm, & warriors who kneel to none. men forged in silence, tempered by devotion. the ache of memory, the weight of duty, the beauty in ruin. this is a collection of souls — cyrus, drogar, roderick, renjiro, aurelia, mael — bound by myth, violence, & the quiet pursuit of meaning amidst the wreckage of gods.
I decided to do it for my boy Roderick ;w;/ might do it for Cyrus & the rest of em. Not all today tho! throughout the week ... also, Roderick is a SLUUUT lmAFO
you die saving the world, as you were always supposed to. peace comes only with your blood. the world will remember you for centuries. they will write poems, create art, and film movies all about you. no one will remember what you were before your death. maybe you don't even know it either. you have spent so long saving the world time after time that there is nothing left of you except the heroism. you die never knowing love.
you die to protect something you love. it does not matter in the end. if it's a person, they still die shortly after, if it's a war, you still lose. your death means nothing. the only people who could've appreciated it will be gone quickly as well. you will die thinking you have done something, when really you have done nothing. perhaps that is the saddest thing of
Faeleth - the forgotten
you die alone. maybe they find you right away, maybe it takes weeks. it doesn't matter because no one will remember a few years down the road. if people come to your funeral, it is not a memory they engrave into their mind. you leave no mark in the world, no legacy at all. your grave grows moss and collects dust, cracking under nothingness. soon, someone will think of you for the last time.
please don't mistake silence for hatred. please don't mistake unanswered plotting messages as indifference, or a lack of enthusiasm towards you. considering the ages of most roleplayers, many of us have bills to pay, families to take care of, medical conditions to treat, appointments to make, classes to take, homes to clean, and lives to live away from the computer that are far, far more important than writing on tumblr — life has a tendency to get in the way of hobbies and fun things like this. be patient with your fellow writers. if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. of course you can set your boundaries, keep your space comfortable, and softblock whoever you wish, but do so while recognizing it's probably not hatred or apathy that keeps them from leaping into your dms with message after message. they probably love this hobby just as much as you... but sometimes life gets in the way.
The goddess straightens in the presence of nature and returns the bow with a delicate dip of their body (a curtsie of sorts). Saint reached for the hand of summer, tongue split lolled from their lips in a common greeting of the serpentine kind. both of their hands enclosed on the one offered with nothing but excitement to see the most familiar aspect greeting the goddess. this hand felt warm and the sheer heat on their skin is welcome as a creature of the desert.
❝ if I offer something in return — ❞ they paused a moment from a small gnot of nerves, retracting their hand to call forth a sweet little seed brimming with the essence of Saint, pure and chaotic thrumming in the same heartbeat in their chest. they cradled the little seed like a lifeline. ❝ might I plant this in the lake ? I'd like to come back often to visit the grove — ahhh, and you, of course. ❞
Faeleth is pleased, & the air answers at once .... a warm little breeze dancing ‘round her like loose ribbons, stirred on instinct alone in sweet response to the kindness shown. The curves of her lips lift, eyes narrowing in fond delight as sunlight catches on copper lashes. “ Mmm… ” she hums, head canting just so, ears giving a soft, tell-tale twitch. “ Pray, why now, hm? ” inquires the Summer God voice bright with gentle heat, mismatched eyes glinting like light through honeyed leaves. “An’ tell me… what fair flora hast thou brought me this day?” There is no suspicion in her tone; only eager curiosity, playful & warm, like a season that knows it is welcomed wherever it goes. “ I would hope thee would visit me… truly. ” Her voice lowers now, warmer, gentler. “ I am not oft sought, no matter the form I bear. ”
I'm not sure what else to add here L O L xD !! but thanks for the tag!
Tagged by: @travmsoldat
Tagging: @stcries-untcld (you pick! <3) , @thelxstdrow (rin) , @valtcr , @gerudospiriit , & YOU! i dont remember who has done it or hasn't xD
They bow, one hand braced upon their staff & the other drifting forward, palm turned open in quiet offering (a reverent pause, held just long enough for the forest itself to still, as if even the leaves that crescented overhead bowed in kind.) before they rise once more. “ What debt of wind or root brings thee unto my groves, Saint…? ”
It is not oft that mortals — ( nor even the divine ) — tread so deep within their keeping without cause, & so a low curiosity coils beneath their calm, ancient & watchful, eyes tracing the other as though reading seasons yet to come. Why now… & what tide of fate has carried thee to their threshold?
He had certainly over-exerted himself in that fight, drained of healing spells & pushed far past what his body ought to endure, even for a paladin built like a walking fortress. Drogar would grant his enemies a measure of respect… & by a measure, he meant a crumb. Not praise, not honor, only the barest acknowledgment that they had, at the very least, fought well enough to earn that much. “u— … i– i think I’m gonna be sic — ... ”
The words barely made it out before his legs locked, stiff & uncertain like a newborn calf learning how to stand. armor creaking with the effort. Despite the bluish-purple cast of his skin, you’d swear he’d gone green beneath it, nausea rolling through him in heavy, ugly waves. His head swam. Vision lagged a half-second behind every blink, the world tilting just enough to be unsettling, not enough to fully drop him (yet). Someone had absolutely clocked him too hard in the noggin. He could still feel the echo of it rattling around behind his eyes, each pulse of his heartbeat knocking against his skull like a hammer on a cracked bell.
He huffed a weak, breathless laugh through his nose, more embarrassment than humor. “hah… jus’— gimme a sec—” But the way his knees trembled told a far more honest story than his words ever would. He felt bad about being in such a shape when the other had found him, wasn't exactly the pinnacle of a paladin ... but he was mortal afterall.
Dro was in feelings & wrote this for @stcries-untcld
Caleb…
I ain’t a man of clever words,
nor one who knows the weavin' of spells,
but I know the weight o' vows,
& the sound a heart makes when it breaks in silence.
Helm teaches that no watch is kept alone,
that even the longest vigil is borne by many hands.
So hear me now, & don’t turn from this truth —
y'were never meant to carry yer sins by yerself.
Guilt will tell y'that y' gotta walk backward,
tracing old ash with bleedin' feet,
but grief ain’t a road meant to be traveled unguarded,
& ya've walked too long without shield or rest.
If y' gotta wander through shadow,
then I’ll walk there too.
If the night calls y'by cruel names,
I’ll answer louder, & call y' friend.
Ya ain’t only what was broken,
not only what was lost,
& not only the fire that once took hold.
Ye're also the hands that shake when they heal,
& the man who still chooses to stand.
If y'drop to yer knees under the weight of memory,
know this —...
I won’t ask y' to rise alone.
I’ll kneel right there with ya, shield to the ground,
till yer breath steadies again.
By Helm, I swear this watch:
no depth of dark ya walk into
will ever be without my light,
& no path y'take will be walked unseen.
Forgiveness comes in small steps,
slow as dawn over frost,
but I’ll keep watch till it does.
Till y'can look at yer own hands
& don’t call them cursed anymore.
And when y' forget this, ’cause weary hearts do,
remember just this. —
y' ain’t alone, Caleb Widogast.
Not now.
Not ever.
Faeleth is nature incarnate. not born from belief, not shaped by worship, not bound to temples or clerics.
They existed before organized religion, before mortals had names for seasons, storms, rot, bloom, or balance.
Where other deities have domains, Faeleth is the system from which those domains come.
How Other Nature Deities Came to Exist (From Mortal Misunderstanding)
Mortals experienced Faeleth, but could not comprehend a single entity that was:
the storm & the calm after,
the rot & the bloom,
the predator & the shelter.
the killing frost & the promise of spring,
So they did what mortals always do:
They separated the aspects,
gave them names, faces, stories,
& worshiped them as individual gods.
Over time, belief gave those aspects form → not because Faeleth created them, but because mortal faith shaped fragments of nature into personified deities.
So in-universe:
Faeleth is the source; other gods are interpretations.
Why Faeleth Doesn’t Care (& Might Even Encourage It)
Faeleth does not need worship. They do not require credit, temples, or prayers.
As long as:
forests are respected,
Rivers are not poisoned,
Balance is maintained,
Creatures aren't killed for sport
Then the name mortals give their reverence means nothing to Faeleth.
To them, a thousand nature gods are just:
different dialects of the same truth,
different masks mortals use to understand the wild.
If reverence protects the land, then the method is irrelevant.
Relationship to Deities Like Silvanus (or Similar)
Gods like Silvanus are:
powerful,
ancient,
deeply tied to nature, but still downstream of Faeleth’s existence.
Not lesser in importance to mortals.
But cosmically, they are custodians of aspects, not the origin of the system.
Clerics/druids may draw power from Silvanus, Chauntea, etc., But the current they tap into ultimately flows from Faeleth’s being.
In Faeleth’s Own Verse (Detached from D&D Canon)
There are no parallel nature gods in the same sense.
Faeleth is:
Mother Nature,
the seasons,
the cycle of life & decay,
the will of the wild given thought & form.
Other “gods” may exist, but none rule over nature itself. They must negotiate with it, not command it.
