WOODSWIFE —
independent and private ZISA OF THE DARK WOODS from rosamund hodge's crimson bound and germanic lore. headcanon-based and wildly canon-divergent. unearthed by VIA.

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@woodswife
WOODSWIFE —
independent and private ZISA OF THE DARK WOODS from rosamund hodge's crimson bound and germanic lore. headcanon-based and wildly canon-divergent. unearthed by VIA.
btw. zisa's woods doesn't have a fixed location. it moves around, you can technically access it within any forest. HOWEVER, it won't be easy to find. zisa's domain is specifically the deep dark woods, as in... the heart of the forest. the part of the woods so dense with roots and trees, with boles so close together and canopies so intertwined, light has a hard time reaching in.
it is perpetually dark in zisa's woods until you reach the clearing that surrounds her hut. no one can just "stumble into" zisa's lands. if someone were to happen upon the outskirts of her territory, they will be lead away by the trees. basically:
the woods protect zisa from outsiders
the woods protect YOU from zisa, and
zisa protects YOU from the woods
there are, of course, exceptions to this rule. visitors who are permitted to cross, entities powerful enough to protect themselves, or unlucky souls the woods allow just close enough within their bounds to be devoured.
i yap so much about zisa in friends' dms but every time i sit down and type a headcanon for her, my brain feels empty
ANYA TAYLOR-JOY as Olga of the Birch Forest THE NORTHMAN (2022) dir. Robert Eggers
‘people are going to perish. people are going to die and i can’t stop it.’ ( from forseti! )
prompt hoard.
such desire to do good, such fervor to save lives.
forseti torments himself with the impotence of his position. he is a god, an æsir, but even the best of odin's blood have limitations set upon them. he is constrained by his domain, herded in by his divinity, and there is a specific kind of pain wrought only by looking on at the world as it changes, as it worsens, that only those who may not cross the threshold of a common death will endure.
it plagued her once.
but no more.
"isn't that what they do?" midgard is full of death, positively reeking with it at every corner. decay begins as soon as life does. zisa is no stranger to it by now, she who once graced the allfather's gilded halls and since been cast out. her youth is as far flung as her old home, whereas forseti's is still draped around his shoulders, soon to be shed... when the time comes, she will mourn.
but not yet. "what happens to fragile lives is beyond your control." those fated to die will die — baldur's son would know it best. and if a great calamity is on the horizon, to stand against it might be noble... but the lady of the dark woods doubt it will change a thing. "try not to fret, forseti. your time to act will come." she touches his shoulder, gives it a squeeze. "but you must be patient."
Laketober 2023
Day 24 The Lake
“And she is waiting.”
(Added: this is meant to be paired with Day 18 Interrogation )
information: zisa of the dark woods
zisa is a pagan goddess of questionable origins purportedly worshipped in augsburg, germany.
jacob grimm ( of grimms' fairy tales ) is the one who proposed the association between zisa and tyr ( the norse god of wars and oaths. ) he initially speculated that zisa was tyr's consort.
the idea that zisa and tyr are siblings came from rosamund hodge's book called crimson bound. much of my characterization of zisa came from that book as well.
i am leaning towards this portrayal to be a mix of various sources. crimson bound remains to be my primary inspiration behind zisa's character, but i would like to touch on her more myth-based story as well, and expand on that as much as i'm able.
important aspects of zisa's character in myth-based interactions would be as follows:
as tyr's sister, zisa is an ásynja, a deity that belongs in the norse pantheon. at some point, she encounters a malevolent entity in niðavellir, whom she called the devourer. this entity sought to possess zisa and make her its vessel.
initially, zisa thought she would need weapons to defeat the devourer, so she goes to volund ( the smith god ) to ask for his aid, bearing two femur bones of the devourer's previous victims. volund taught zisa how to fashion the bones into shape-shifting swords in exchange for sleeping with her for two nights. zisa agrees, and the swords are called joyeuse and durendal. they turn into bone needles when not in use.
the swords did not work against the devourer, and so zisa is possessed. she is, however, adept at weaving charms. during her lucid moments, zisa wove a charm that would purge her of the infestation. the charm would coerce the devourer to devour itself. zisa swallowed the charm, got rid of the devourer, though remnants of its power remained in her, as evidenced by an explosion of black veins on her back, in the exact same shape of the charm she wove.
this "taints" zisa, and she is exiled to midgard. she dwells in the deepest parts of the forest in what is now augsburg. she then becomes a "woodwife", the first of her kind.
zisa had to share her lands with an entity called old mother hunger, who lives in a hut in the woods. to keep old mother hunger from terrorizing the forest and the nearby settlements, zisa kills her and buries her in a vegetable patch. she then takes over old mother hunger's hut.
as for woodwives, they are said to be female spirits who are benevolent towards humans. they are adept at healing and warding, and they often ask travelers for favors in exchange for a bag of woodchips. these woodchips turn into little gold nuggets once the traveler is safely out of the forest.
zisa is the first of these woodwives, and she passed on her knowledge to the women of augsburg.
for more fantasy-based interactions:
instead of an ásynja, zisa is a tribal princess that resided in augsburg, in a small village by a lake.
a primordial evil lives in the forest by their dwelling, keeping the entire territory covered in perpetual darkness. it is called the devourer.
every few years, the tribal leader offers a brother and a sister to the devourer in exchange for relative peace. one to become the devourer's vessel, the other to be its disciple called a "forest-born".
the tribe's leader ( zisa and tyr's father ) offered them both up to be the sacrifice to the devourer. they were given a test: whoever is quick enough to cut off the other's hand will be the forest-born, leaving the other to become the vessel. zisa, knowing that tyr would hesitate, quickly cut off her brother's hand.
tyr is taken off into a deep cave in preparation to become the vessel. he is conditioned to forget his own name. zisa finds a way to free him, but she is sent to old mother hunger to be trained as the devourer's disciple.
there is a bed of old bones behind mother hunger's hut. they are the husks of the devourer's previous victims ( as usually, the ritual to turn someone into a vessel and a disciple is not entirely successful. both victims waste away eventually. ) this is where zisa finds the bones she brings to volund. they call to her and tell her that only the leavings of the wolf could kill it.
things happen similarly as described above: zisa asks volund for help, they sleep together for two nights. she forges the needle-swords joyeuse and durendal.
zisa asks mother hunger how to save her brother. thinking that she cannot do it, mother hunger says zisa has to carve out the hearts of her parents, eat her father's and feed their mother's to tyr. zisa then kills mother hunger, goes off to kill her parents, eats her father's heart, and journeys into the cave where tyr is being kept so she can feed their mother's heart to him.
zisa does end up saving tyr ( he remembers his name upon eating the heart of their mother, thus breaking the ritual ), and she gives him durendal. they fight the devourer with their swords, but the devourer ends up possessing zisa. taking her brother's remaining hand, zisa guides tyr into plunging durendal into her chest. as she lay dying, she weaves the charm same as the above, and swallows it, leading the devourer to devour itself and the light of the sun and moon to be restored in their lands. an explosion of black-veined scars is left upon her back afterwards.
zisa does not die because remnants of the devourer's power seep into her, turning her immortal, granting her a stained kind of divinity. when she awoke, zisa told tyr what she had to do to save them both. unable to grasp the horror of it all and unable to forgive zisa for killing their parents, tyr abandons her, taking durendal with him.
zisa then takes over old mother hunger's hut and becomes the first woodwife, the goddess of the deep, dark woods, the slayer of the devourer, the daughter of the silver lake. the bone needle sword joyeuse is pinned perpetually on her dress.
some trivia, if you will!
old mother hunger is probably inspired by baba yaga, but i don't think rosamund hodge actually stated so.
old mother hunger's hut is covered in bird feathers coated with blood. her utensils were fashioned from leg and finger bones, her bowls and mugs from skulls.
zisa did a lot of work "renovating" old mother hunger's hut. the roof is now properly thatched. she got rid of the bone field and replaced it with a vegetable patch and a small pond.
zisa's forest domain, in both her myth-based and fanatsy-based verses, is almost impossible for just anybody to find. not only is it located in the deepest part of the woods, the trees and roots also shift around to redirect unwanted visitors from ever stumbling upon it.
zisa is more or less, isolated in the woods. there are still remnants of evil there that she has to "take care of" from time to time. she is no longer offering up services as a woodwife after passing on her gifts to the women of the land. but she can make exceptions.
zisa does venture out into the wider world from time to time. but not with any regularity.
zisa is old old. no specific number comes to mind but she is older than most civilizations, in both her myth-based and fantasy-based verses. a few thousand years old at the very least.
All vegetable patches should be overgrown. Like Ximena's headspace (there's a joke to be said here, that she's a vegetable or full of growth, maybe).
She blinks, returning to earth at the sound of the other addressing her. Had she spoken? She does that, a lot, speaking while elsewhere. Usually the autopilot her brain puts her on is good enough, but sometimes it gets her into trouble. At least Zisa doesn't look mad.
"Why?" Maybe she sounds disappointed. Some toxic cloves of garlic would surely liven up her spice cabinet back home. "I think it would be more interesting if they were."
Her walk back is lazy. Lackadaisical. Following Zisa like an imprinted sloth (a little goofy, a little cute, a little dangerous if claws are involved). "What about nein?" Bahahahaha. Quality comedy from Ximena (she's here til Tuesday, folks); if her father were here, he'd scold her for her poor manners towards a friend. Just the thought makes her smile.
"I'm not starving." Not anymore, anyways, her Nana took care of that quickly. "You don't have to go through the trouble." Already her brain is scrambling to come up with a suitable thank you. She doesn't like to be in debt. Even with someone as pleasant to be around as Zisa. "It's cool."
"interesting for who?" zisa asks, nonplussed. none of her natural enemies can be felled by poison. besides, there are animals who sneak into her vegetable patch sometimes. she doesn't want to kill them. "if poison is what you're after, i make them separately. shall i give you a vial?" she used to teach the women of this land how to brew simple potions for a variety of uses ( to kill abusive husbands and/or malicious relations, to fend off pests and rodents, to aid in sleep and all sorts of healing ) but it has been a spell, hasn't it? they learned all they can from her. there's been no reason to brew for some time except to replenish desiccating supplies a few times every decade or so.
"i won't accept no for an answer in all languages, known or unknown, dead or yet existing," zisa replies in perfect german, sparing ximena a small smile. her eyes are a pale green today, along the same shade as the sallowness of her dress, if a different color. "it's no trouble at all, you know." if she doesn't have to deal with the excess, she'll consider it a favor, but she doesn't tell ximena that. she hates being in debt, too. "you can take it home and eat it when you're hungry again. it'll keep for a few days. more if you pickle them. it's what i do."
they are in her hut now. zisa walks towards the sink and starts to wash the garden scapes, laying the clean pieces down on a woven kitchen towel. she hums an old tune under her breath as she works.
her vegetable patch tends to be a little overgrown this time of the year. zisa tends to it, her back on ximena, collecting garlic scapes crouched on the ground and depositing her harvest into her basket. the sun overhead is high on the sky, but the trees stave off much of the heat. still, a line of perspiration travels from behind her ear towards the column of her neck, disappearing into the collar of her pale yellow dress. the color washes her out severely, like a water-color painting left too long outside.
beware of gods bearing gifts, @fragmentmemories says. zisa lets out a breathless chuckle in response.
"you would tell me that? i haven't even offered them to you yet." she's planning to, however. it's a lot of garlic scapes for only one goddess to consume, and her cabinet of pickles is still half-way stocked. "they're not poisoned, ximena," zisa assures, standing up, dusting her hands on her apron and scooping up her basket with one arm. it's true that the patch can be questionable in terms of its choice of fertilizer, but surely old mother hunger has rotted down to soil in the first hundred years of her burial.
"let me wash them first." she pivots and walks towards her hut. "i'll send you home with a bundle. i'm afraid i'm not accepting no for an answer this time."
big inspo for zisa and tyr ( in my head, aside from hansel and gretel which i think is what rosamund hodge intended ) is ariadne and the minotaur. it's the knowledge that your sibling is a monster, that she will not balk from doing the terrible things you are so afraid of doing. the forest is the labyrinth that keeps her in check, the labyrinth that tethers you to her. there is no theseus in this story, however. no hero to kill the monster. tyr drives durendal into zisa's chest, kills her with the weapon she forged to save him. she makes the ultimate sacrifice: not just her life for tyr's but her innocence, too. in both verses ( myth and fantasy ) she takes the fall for what happened to them both. she is exiled, left to rot in the dark woods, forced to eke out a living from the cursed earth. even if the sword did not kill her, his abandonment was a sort of death. he leaves and she is still there, in the land of their birth, still the sister and the monster and the one with blood on her hands, in her teeth, on the once-white of her dress. in the end, zisa did everything for tyr. and he never forgave her for any of it.
divinity original sin II act 1 sentence starters change tenses/pronouns as needed !! some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw : death , murder , slavery
‘aye, so you’ve eyes as well as ears, eh?! you’ll go far. even here.’
‘rolling dice. deciding fates. don’t worry, honey. it isn’t yours.’
‘oh! oh dear, I seem to have crossed some cultural taboo. how… difficult.’
‘I know the beginning of this tale and the end, but I am rather missing the middle.’
‘I want to know about the celestial. I want to know about your gods.’
‘of course you don’t have any useful information. why did I expect anything else?’
‘I’m just about to create a scene.’
‘I am trying to discover if there is anyone worth saving.’
‘you have never seen anything like it because you have never met anyone like me.’
‘you caught me off guard. no one catches me off guard.’
not that there is anything wrong with you, of course, just that you’re… well, not all that impressive.’
‘forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.’
‘there it is! I was wondering when your spine would make an appearance.’
‘this is what makes you such an abomination, you see.’
‘ha. I admire your pride.’
‘I have made mistakes; logic hold that if the head is troubled, the body will suffer.’
‘you will be my champion. you will protect our people.’
‘what I need is not the wisdom of experience, but the fire of potential.’
‘when facing peril, your survival matters above all else. even if it comes at the expense of others.’
‘you matter - you above all others. even those you may love.’
‘competition is inevitable. failure is not.’
‘there is nothing you cannot do when you sit on the lap of a powerful king. and I did it all…’
‘but power changes a man, as he changes his nation.’
‘what stupid lies…’
‘I’ve never known such kindness.’
‘I must say, I was hoping to enjoy a smug advantage over everyone else.’
‘I kept their names, and with their names I will honor them.’
‘until it is over, I will be nothing but vengeance. a day on the beach I’ll be after.’
‘a lovely little promise to make. a thorny one to keep.’
‘they are inconsequential. candles snuffed out by a brighter flame - if I do say so myself.’
‘of course when I say pleasure, I mean the distinct dishonor.’
‘beware of gods bearing gifts.’
‘if the present is all that matters, you must take me as I am. sunshine and shadow both.’
‘how romantic a concession, to let a woman kill when she so pleases.’
‘I am no more free now than I was in those chains.’
‘there is much goodness within you, but this task would not be easy.’
‘just because something is bad doesn’t mean you ought not to do it, love.’
‘when you are truly at a loss, when you have no choice but to back down or perish, you will find safety in my shadow. this I promise.’
‘you’re what gets some of us out of bed each morning.’
‘I’m… happy. how unbecoming.’
‘this is what success looks like.’
‘trust me, convenient is the last word I’d use to describe the experience.’
‘you have no idea what you’re really dealing with.’
‘listen up. we can’t win this one. but I can get us to safety. you’ll need to buy me time.’
‘you will undo what has been done.’
‘I grow cold now, even thinking about it. it was not a dream. it was a threat; a promise from our enemy- the enemy you and you alone can stop.’
‘we squalled like children until the bogeyman came for us in the night.’
‘you have gained power, and with it, hubris. but do not forget who made you powerful.’
‘I unlocked within you the power to be the greatest among a great people.’
‘greatness is often thrust on us, unbidden. only a fool does not seize it.’
‘people are going to perish. people are going to die and I can’t stop it.’
‘defeat. I have been defeated. impossible… impossible.’
‘it is a grave responsibility, but one that I gladly accept.’
‘brace yourself, this might hurt… a lot.’
‘just when I think this land hold no more surprises, I find myself in some place even more dismal than the last.’
i'm not going into lurid detail about any of this, but. i need to warn y'all that there is some dead dove content in zisa's story ( it's the usual suspects; patricide, matricide, one-time cannibalism. ) they'll likely only come up in headcanon posts and will be tagged as needed but yknow. fair warning etc etc, please take care of yourselves first and always.
ZISA OF THE DARK WOODS — A WEBWEAVING
elektra, sophocles / anya taylor joy, the northman / john 6:54 / courage, anxiety and despair: watching the battle, james sant / antigone, sophocles / a forest of tall tress, karin gedge / venetta octavia, i set it in stone
Did he seem offended? It seems a silly, human emotion to have in this moment. His eyes narrow in response, though little else changes about his demeanor. Offended's not the correct term, but he cannot come up with another one that can easily be expressed in her language. Or in any language, for that matter.
Wendell's silent storming breaks when she speaks of leaving. He can't help but laugh at the thought. It's an easy laugh that is so out of place with the rest of his composure that it looks more terrifying than it sounds. "You've offered me shelter and fed me. It would be rude of me to not return the gesture, wouldn't it?" Rude and mandatory being interchangeable in his book.
"I simply cannot leave until..." He trails off, his gaze falling to his bowl. He picks up the spoon and eats the final few bites. He stands, moving to place the bowl back on the kitchen counter. When he places it down, it's completely clean again. "Until I either plant your pumpkin seeds or show you to the neighboring faerie doors or both if that's what you demand of me." He runs a hand through his hair, opting to stand in the kitchen as opposed to sitting across the table from her again.
"Yes, I could tell." His voice is soft, but his jaw is clenched. He doesn't know all of the details of his curse, but he could feel its hold on him relaxing even as soon as he passed her threshold. One could consider it an advantage, though he pays so little attention to its funny little tells that it hardly matters. "I apologize for encroaching on your home with my business. I hadn't realized you hold a standing adverseness to..." He trails off, nostrils flaring. "My kind."
Wendell folds his arms, not sure what to make of her note on meddling. "I never expected that you would meddle. Meddling would be completely idiotic and you don't strike me as an idiot."
"demand of you?" now she is baffled. her brows scrunch together as she watches him stand, feels him go behind her to set his bowl on her kitchen counter. zisa takes a long sip of her mint water, turning wendell's words over in her mind. does he think himself beholden to her somehow, all because she's offered him food and shelter? the assumption almost feels like an insult, if not for the belated realization that it must have more to do with faerie customs than it has anything to do with her, or whatever hospitality she's shown to him thus far.
"i do not intend to demand anything of you." zisa can very well plant her pumpkin seeds herself. "and you misunderstand me; it's not an aversion i feel for fae like yourself." her business in the woods is to stay the hand of an old evil whose tendrils of power sunk so deeply into the bones of this world. she is the only being it will bow to. no doubt the fae whose doors are scattered about in her lands are wary of it, too, and are aware that she has the means to be rid of it. it seems to her that they do not feel the need to stray in her path, and she feels exactly the same. "we simply stay out of each other's way. it is a coexistence, one without ill-will."
her eyes flash silver at his next words and she stills in her seat. after a moment, she forces herself to move, picks up her spoon to swirl around the food left in her bowl. he is bold, isn't he? too bold, perhaps. "it is kind of you not to insult me in my own home," the first woodwife says, looking down at the remains of her stew. "feel free to go about your business, then." finally she stands, carrying her own bowl to the kitchen counter without looking at wendell. "i must counsel you to keep your search well within broad daylight. these woods are even less accommodating at night, but i suppose you already know that." she turns away from him, starts tidying up what's left of their noontime meal at the table. "you don't strike me as an idiot, either."
— blood makes the grass grow a little greener.
Lucy Boynton in THE PALE BLUE EYE (2022) dir. Scott Cooper
Wednesday, 2023/03/15, by Jacob Hubertus.