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SKILL : SEER ( 1 / 5 )
This thread is forward-dated and takes place on March 24, 2025.
This thread is forward-dated and takes place on March 24, 2025.
The air was warming, if ever slowly.
Spring chased some of the winter chill away, dragging snowbanks with it and revealing the blush-colored carpet of Avon's home amidst the meadows. It remained cold, but not so keenly as to be frigid unless one ventured closer to the Vale, where the arctic breath of winter seemed to remain.
It was a welcome change to Fable - she never cared much for winter and the dormant slumber the earth retreated into. She craved the vibrance of life, the green of fresh spring growth and birdsong. This winter had been cruel and stole so much that she sometimes could scarcely believe she remained above ground.
But, it had blessed her, too.
She now had two siblings and her mother back, an inconceivable reality she was truly in awe of. It felt almost undeserved with the vorpal touch of recent days - she anticipated a slap more often than a caress and found herself bracing for the inevitable impact... but it never came. The storms that commanded her life over the previous seasons had begun to slow, its rolls of thunder distant as dark clouds marched away, relenting to blue skies.
Not only had she regained precious fragments of her family, but her birthright had been revealed to her. The blood that swam through her veins - at least in the life before this one - had been owed to Avon, the city that had been erased and passed off as fiction. But it had been real, as real as the frost-gilded grasses beneath her paws, as real as the ebb and flow of her own breaths.
So much had happened within winter's hold, but she held a cautious optimism. Brighter days were ahead, unfolding like precious spring blooms - but there was change yet to embrace to make room for it.
Fable had whiled away at how to approach her fragmented pack, but something in her had solidified after the tree tunnel with her family. She wanted her daughters to have somewhere that was home - something they could cling to when the world grew to be too much, a bedrock that could steady them when she was no longer there to do so.
She wanted Avon to serve as the same for anyone in its berth, too. Friend and family alike could be combined beneath one banner, and she had mulled the ideas over in the quiet hours of night and morning, before her children stirred. Morrigan's Hand was an entire lifetime away, but that didn't mean she couldn't bring all the parts that made it work to this one.
Even if her children chose not to share her belief system, she wanted them to have the option. The Hand had never been dismissive of other schools of thought, after all - every soul was welcome, provided they meant no harm, and that was the crux of what Fable wanted to create. Sanctuary, relief, a shelter from the tribulations of life.
Here, within the meadows' confines, there would be no strife.
Fable's paws brought her to the central part of the territory, where she'd discovered an interesting outcropping. Inside the hold of winter, it was lackluster; a massive rock rose from the ground, affording whomever stood upon it a small vantage point. Two or more wolves could easily sit upon it, with some space to spare.
Gnarled roots from the nearby collection of seemingly ancient trees, almost concealed by the lingering snow, wrapped around the rock like an earthen leviathan coiling around its hoard of treasure. The trees had grown wild over the time immaterial that they had existed here - creating a matrix of hardened roots that were as much a part of the structure as the rock itself.
Now, leaf-bare, it was a benign sight - but Fable was certain this was the heart of this land. She swore she could feel it beating beneath her paws as she carefully picked her path onto the outcrop. It held easily beneath her weight, though she cast a glance of caution in the direction of any of her children who might have followed her.
When she at last settled her haunches into a sit, she looked out across the space before her. It was strange for her to be seated upon her perch when she viewed herself no more important than the other members of the pack, but she was the remaining half of a previously whole leadership.
It would not be easy, but Epona had reassured her that the burden would grow lighter with time and experience.
Fable prayed her choice would be well-received and that her reasoning would always be sound.
She drew in a steadying breath before she tipped her muzzle skyward, releasing a howl of summons that rose as a tendril of vapor in the still-chilled air - calling forth the remaining dredges of Avon. Aisling , who lingered just behind her mother's paws and sat at her side, added her own voice to the call.
Patiently, Fable waited for all parties to filter in. Her green eyes caught each individual as they appeared, broadcasting a reassuring smile and a nod of greeting, of acknowledgement. When all seemed to be in attendance, she sat a little taller as she regarded them.
She looked to her mother then, whose azure eyes radiated reassurance, confidence - enough to sustain Fable as she plucked along.
Fable had no stomach for conquest, only the preservation of the sanctity of life and doing what she could to safeguard the vulnerable.
There was no one she trusted more to lead rites and commune with the world - Fable had never known anyone to be as fluent in nature's unique language as her own mother.
Carefully, she would go on to explain each rank and its duties to the amassed congregation.
There are the hearth-keepers whose job is to maintain the pack's beating heart. They commit themselves to caretaking, drawing from wells of empathy to be a woven-in support system for all of Avon's members.
The Sommeliers are tasked with the curation of spirits for festivals and general use. From fruit and berries they would create fermented products, perfect for celebrations and revelry.
Apotheca are trained in the art of healing, pouring their abilities into the preservation of life - both of packmates and guests who sought sanctuary in Avon's lands. Those who are proficient would be tasked with training the next generation of healers, when the time came.
Couriers bridge the gap in communication between packs and individuals, delivering messages from and to Avon. Swift of foot and silver of tongue, the position is held for those who are well-suited to being a representative of Avon as a whole.
Although the machinations of war were far from Fable's mind, her conversations with Shiloh made it clear the Kingdom could not leave itself defenseless. For those who wished to protect, the rank of Warden was an easy match. Those under this title would dedicate the vast amount of their time to hunting to fill caches and fighting in Avon's favor, whenever the need arose.
Finally, though far from least, was the rank of Cleric. Serving as the mouthpiece to the deities and bridge between mortals and fae, the clerics possess a heightened sense for the supernatural. They find signs where others see nothing at all. During festivals and rites, they guide the attendees in accordance to nature's bidding.
Fable pulled in a silent breath through her nose after a brief moment of silence.
Spring chased some of the winter chill away, dragging snowbanks with it and revealing the blush-colored carpet of Avon's home amidst the meadows. It remained cold, but not so keenly as to be frigid unless one ventured closer to the Vale, where the arctic breath of winter seemed to remain.
It was a welcome change to Fable - she never cared much for winter and the dormant slumber the earth retreated into. She craved the vibrance of life, the green of fresh spring growth and birdsong. This winter had been cruel and stole so much that she sometimes could scarcely believe she remained above ground.
But, it had blessed her, too.
She now had two siblings and her mother back, an inconceivable reality she was truly in awe of. It felt almost undeserved with the vorpal touch of recent days - she anticipated a slap more often than a caress and found herself bracing for the inevitable impact... but it never came. The storms that commanded her life over the previous seasons had begun to slow, its rolls of thunder distant as dark clouds marched away, relenting to blue skies.
Not only had she regained precious fragments of her family, but her birthright had been revealed to her. The blood that swam through her veins - at least in the life before this one - had been owed to Avon, the city that had been erased and passed off as fiction. But it had been real, as real as the frost-gilded grasses beneath her paws, as real as the ebb and flow of her own breaths.
So much had happened within winter's hold, but she held a cautious optimism. Brighter days were ahead, unfolding like precious spring blooms - but there was change yet to embrace to make room for it.
Fable had whiled away at how to approach her fragmented pack, but something in her had solidified after the tree tunnel with her family. She wanted her daughters to have somewhere that was home - something they could cling to when the world grew to be too much, a bedrock that could steady them when she was no longer there to do so.
She wanted Avon to serve as the same for anyone in its berth, too. Friend and family alike could be combined beneath one banner, and she had mulled the ideas over in the quiet hours of night and morning, before her children stirred. Morrigan's Hand was an entire lifetime away, but that didn't mean she couldn't bring all the parts that made it work to this one.
Even if her children chose not to share her belief system, she wanted them to have the option. The Hand had never been dismissive of other schools of thought, after all - every soul was welcome, provided they meant no harm, and that was the crux of what Fable wanted to create. Sanctuary, relief, a shelter from the tribulations of life.
Here, within the meadows' confines, there would be no strife.
Fable's paws brought her to the central part of the territory, where she'd discovered an interesting outcropping. Inside the hold of winter, it was lackluster; a massive rock rose from the ground, affording whomever stood upon it a small vantage point. Two or more wolves could easily sit upon it, with some space to spare.
Gnarled roots from the nearby collection of seemingly ancient trees, almost concealed by the lingering snow, wrapped around the rock like an earthen leviathan coiling around its hoard of treasure. The trees had grown wild over the time immaterial that they had existed here - creating a matrix of hardened roots that were as much a part of the structure as the rock itself.
Now, leaf-bare, it was a benign sight - but Fable was certain this was the heart of this land. She swore she could feel it beating beneath her paws as she carefully picked her path onto the outcrop. It held easily beneath her weight, though she cast a glance of caution in the direction of any of her children who might have followed her.
When she at last settled her haunches into a sit, she looked out across the space before her. It was strange for her to be seated upon her perch when she viewed herself no more important than the other members of the pack, but she was the remaining half of a previously whole leadership.
It would not be easy, but Epona had reassured her that the burden would grow lighter with time and experience.
Fable prayed her choice would be well-received and that her reasoning would always be sound.
She drew in a steadying breath before she tipped her muzzle skyward, releasing a howl of summons that rose as a tendril of vapor in the still-chilled air - calling forth the remaining dredges of Avon. Aisling , who lingered just behind her mother's paws and sat at her side, added her own voice to the call.
Patiently, Fable waited for all parties to filter in. Her green eyes caught each individual as they appeared, broadcasting a reassuring smile and a nod of greeting, of acknowledgement. When all seemed to be in attendance, she sat a little taller as she regarded them.
There have been many changes o' late, an' I know I have been quiet. For that, I apologize - m'gratitude for your continued support in this trying months is valued beyond words,Fable began, gaze drifting from one set of eyes to the next as she spoke.
With th' return o' m'mother, sister, an' brother, I would like t'usher in a new beginning for us all under th' banner o' the Kingdom of Avon. It is a tribute t' my birthright, and th' birthright o' my family, but we offer it to all who wish t' leave this world brighter than when it was given to us.
She looked to her mother then, whose azure eyes radiated reassurance, confidence - enough to sustain Fable as she plucked along.
We will continue t' protect th' fae as they have need o' us, but we must also hold all matters o' life sacred. Any who come to us for refuge must be permitted, unless they bear ill will,Fable went on.
This was th' way o' Morrigan's Hand, th' coven that shaped myself and m'family. We will live in peace, working with nature rather than against it.
Fable had no stomach for conquest, only the preservation of the sanctity of life and doing what she could to safeguard the vulnerable.
With this change, I - your Matriarch - have created new ranks,she announced.
I hope I have found a place for everyone and those who will find us in the future, an' ye are welcome t' stake your claim now or remain as 'folk' as we embark on our new beginning. I am naming m'mother, Epona, as our Diviner.
There was no one she trusted more to lead rites and commune with the world - Fable had never known anyone to be as fluent in nature's unique language as her own mother.
Carefully, she would go on to explain each rank and its duties to the amassed congregation.
There are the hearth-keepers whose job is to maintain the pack's beating heart. They commit themselves to caretaking, drawing from wells of empathy to be a woven-in support system for all of Avon's members.
The Sommeliers are tasked with the curation of spirits for festivals and general use. From fruit and berries they would create fermented products, perfect for celebrations and revelry.
Apotheca are trained in the art of healing, pouring their abilities into the preservation of life - both of packmates and guests who sought sanctuary in Avon's lands. Those who are proficient would be tasked with training the next generation of healers, when the time came.
Couriers bridge the gap in communication between packs and individuals, delivering messages from and to Avon. Swift of foot and silver of tongue, the position is held for those who are well-suited to being a representative of Avon as a whole.
Although the machinations of war were far from Fable's mind, her conversations with Shiloh made it clear the Kingdom could not leave itself defenseless. For those who wished to protect, the rank of Warden was an easy match. Those under this title would dedicate the vast amount of their time to hunting to fill caches and fighting in Avon's favor, whenever the need arose.
Finally, though far from least, was the rank of Cleric. Serving as the mouthpiece to the deities and bridge between mortals and fae, the clerics possess a heightened sense for the supernatural. They find signs where others see nothing at all. During festivals and rites, they guide the attendees in accordance to nature's bidding.
Fable pulled in a silent breath through her nose after a brief moment of silence.
This is a lot o' change, I know - I will be working alongside all o' ye as we rebuild an' every day after until m'final breath,she told the group, her tone emphatic. She meant every word.
If your heart feels a calling to any o' our ranks, let it be known now.
All members are allowed to claim a base rank, except for those under One Year of age. This means the following ranks may be chosen at will: Cleric, Warden, Courier, Apotheca, Hearth-keeper, Sommelier or just Folk. High Regent will be a position bestowed ICly based on interactions, it must be earned.
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