Can freely be drawn, ask before writing! | Freely able to be depicted with others as long as you maintain her nature | Leniently open as a Creator
.;Origin Prompts;.
Gifted since creation, the enchantment this Esk carries is both a nasty thing and part of their namesake. 'The Sluagh' is manifested a set of floating jaws around Slua's throat, albeit butchered and mocking, for it's only mangled teeth, but they'll still gnash and bite when the affliction is active. As for what that affliction does? This strange enchantment has been described as being able to create noise. Edging from soft whiny whimpers to violent high pitched wails and all the way to terrifying and unnatural screeches of something other - the sound itself can be heard throughout the entire col she resides in. It is used, primarily, as a warning bell against unwanted visitors and humans. And while there isn't technically any effect, the sounds it makes alone is enough to drive people into paranoia.
They tell stories of this enchantment, those travelers and nearby residents. It's loud, it's vicious, and it's awful. People speak of it with tense shoulders and a tremor to their voices. It's used as a folk myth, a warning lullaby to rowdy children, and for some? For other? It is a beacon towards home.
They tell stories of this enchantment, those travelers and nearby residents. It's loud, it's vicious, and it's awful. People speak of it with tense shoulders and a tremor to their voices. It's used as a folk myth, a warning lullaby to rowdy children, and for some? For other? It is a beacon towards home.
Background
Clairvoyant | Observant | Dangerous
In her past life, The Sluagh was, as far as she can remember, human. Or at least a relative of it. Strange considering her hatred for them, though she wouldn't exactly be surprised if that also played into exactly the reason why.
She was created many many millennium ago by the Polar Wanderer, back when humans were newer and far more nomadic and living with the Earth, not as against it as they are now. She'd been quick to travel much like those she was with, but from what she remembers she knows she was a recluse of sorts. Far more solitary than friendly, but she was not unkind back then. She was skilled with her instincts, but stubborn as all hell, and she was quick to go off on her own for whatever goal she'd had at the time. It shouldn't really surprise her then that she grew lost, but she can't even recall how she became lost. All she remembers is a storm, heavy and white and cold in that ancient mountain pass, and she remembers watching as her skin turned black and blue and sickly plum as she rotted into the alabaster scenery. She remembers not of how Aevre found her, or what exactly became of her transformation itself, but she does remember that it hurt. Blindingly cold and sharpened at the edges. She remembers something like falling apart, and bright colors that filled her vision and left her blind until the blizzard dissipated.
The only honest way of telling she was not always an Esk is found in her warren. Old bones hidden into the walls, cloth, frail weaponry. She does her best to ignore it, though the cloth has long since been put to good use.
As an Esk, The Sluagh is a secretive and reclusive type. Not many know her story, not even those she's incredibly close to. So many years of living have left her with a rather grounded outlook on the world, but a strange one at that. She's watched as mountains fell, as species died, as lakes turned to oceans - she has watched the rise and fall of so many things and it has shaped her into the creature that stands today. She's learned languages dead and new, she's learned new and dangerous instincts, and she's long learned the differences between friend, foe, and child.
On a face level, The Sluagh is incredibly intimidating. She is well aware of this too - her size is immense and her aura is ancient and wise. She's comforting, yes, especially to those long lost to the cold, but she's well aware of the reaction she rips from many. With Esk and animals alike, she never turns her metaphorical claws towards them. The Sluagh is incredibly patient and soft with those who've lost their way in the world, she's kind to those who require it, and outside of her general shock of an appearance, she is quick to offer solace to those who require it. For all her age she's become incredibly intertwined with her boundary and home as a whole. The incredibly spirit has long since learned the tells of the world, is keenly connected to the ley lines and veins and travel throughout it above and below the Earth's surface. She knows the stories it tells, she knows when a creature is born and when another dies to give it space, she knows when a snowflake lands and when another melts, she knows when plants rot and others bloom. She knows, intimately, the ins and outs of her home. Slua is never not able to tell when something occurs, is never not able to tell a story, and as a result she's usually able to learn and read and tell those who visit it.
She's well earned her status as a clairvoyant sort, able to take one short look at a spirit and find their intentions and rip them out and lay it bare to stain the snow. She can read a life story from a simple breath, can sense a worry from a glance, can taste a trouble from a tremor. It's part of why she takes on a guardian role so easily within her home. She can tell when visitors enter and leave, she can tell when they're distraught or content, and she can just barely see the things they carry with them as if actually present. Many have sought her out for a 'reading' of sorts, to be told what it is they crave and to be eased of their worries, but The Sluagh does not offer this even on a good day. She is honest but not cruel, especially not to those who have genuinely sought her out hoping for a misguided aid. They're patient to those who need it, endlessly kind, but they are not a free service.
But that's just them with Esk and animals. Ever kind and gentle, never quick to snap or bare her phantom false teeth. But that doesn't mean they're always this way. They have their enchantment for a reason after all, as well as the rumors that surround their name.
For all of Sluagh's kindness, for all her gentle cares and easy ancient mentorship, she is angry. She cannot remember things from her before like others can, hardly can tell if there even was a before or if it's all feverish dreams that have granted her those sickly sights. She has watched as people rose to power and took and destroyed. She's watched as they hunted and killed what they did not need, purely for the fun of it, has watched as they slaughtered creatures and life for a trophy instead of survival. She's watched as resources were stripped and ruined, as glaciers have begun to melt into mock displays of what they once were. She has watched so many things change and leave and become and die and she angry. So, so angry at the carelessness, at the vanity, at the childish stupidity.
For every Esk and creature The Sluagh is kind to, she has ruined another human's day. For every soul she carries to a safe location, she has turned and bared her teeth at a caravan and ruined their night with the sounds of a Wild Hunt. For everyone she helps, she harms another. She threatens and she terrorizes and she warns away those who dare believe they are strong enough to face the mountains and the snow and all the rumors that paint her boundary red with her name sake. She is vicious when she wants to be, and she does not take kindly to unwanted travelers. She will bare her fangs and storm the camps and ruin the world with screams and wails of uncanny terror till it drives away those who dare thought they could be exempted without a damn good reason. And it's not as if she isn't aware of the tales that surround her and her home - oh no, she is fully aware. She knows that humans understand the myths and folk stories, she knows that Esk hear of the frightening spirit with the shrill screams, that the animals hear tell of the col that seems almost too quiet before becoming too loud all at once. She's aware, incredibly so. And she challenges anyone who believes they're strong enough - anyone vain enough to come at her head on with malicious intent.
Altogether, The Sluagh is an ancient creature with many stories to tell, and with many surrounding them. She's a threat of the polar lands, a threat from the mountains even, but to those who look deeper than rumors and gossip and are respectful with their time spent? She is a friend. A mentor, a mother, a guardian, and a kindness. She admires those who stay true to their wishes and goals, who brave environments and welcome them tenfold, and she admires the honest and the respectable who are upfront with their intentions. She hates liars, despises the needlessly cruel, and pays no mind to those who thing that expectance will get them everything they wish for. Should you visit her col, it is best to tread lightly and respectfully, for their kindness and patience only extends are far as you reciprocate it.
In her past life, The Sluagh was, as far as she can remember, human. Or at least a relative of it. Strange considering her hatred for them, though she wouldn't exactly be surprised if that also played into exactly the reason why.
She was created many many millennium ago by the Polar Wanderer, back when humans were newer and far more nomadic and living with the Earth, not as against it as they are now. She'd been quick to travel much like those she was with, but from what she remembers she knows she was a recluse of sorts. Far more solitary than friendly, but she was not unkind back then. She was skilled with her instincts, but stubborn as all hell, and she was quick to go off on her own for whatever goal she'd had at the time. It shouldn't really surprise her then that she grew lost, but she can't even recall how she became lost. All she remembers is a storm, heavy and white and cold in that ancient mountain pass, and she remembers watching as her skin turned black and blue and sickly plum as she rotted into the alabaster scenery. She remembers not of how Aevre found her, or what exactly became of her transformation itself, but she does remember that it hurt. Blindingly cold and sharpened at the edges. She remembers something like falling apart, and bright colors that filled her vision and left her blind until the blizzard dissipated.
The only honest way of telling she was not always an Esk is found in her warren. Old bones hidden into the walls, cloth, frail weaponry. She does her best to ignore it, though the cloth has long since been put to good use.
As an Esk, The Sluagh is a secretive and reclusive type. Not many know her story, not even those she's incredibly close to. So many years of living have left her with a rather grounded outlook on the world, but a strange one at that. She's watched as mountains fell, as species died, as lakes turned to oceans - she has watched the rise and fall of so many things and it has shaped her into the creature that stands today. She's learned languages dead and new, she's learned new and dangerous instincts, and she's long learned the differences between friend, foe, and child.
On a face level, The Sluagh is incredibly intimidating. She is well aware of this too - her size is immense and her aura is ancient and wise. She's comforting, yes, especially to those long lost to the cold, but she's well aware of the reaction she rips from many. With Esk and animals alike, she never turns her metaphorical claws towards them. The Sluagh is incredibly patient and soft with those who've lost their way in the world, she's kind to those who require it, and outside of her general shock of an appearance, she is quick to offer solace to those who require it. For all her age she's become incredibly intertwined with her boundary and home as a whole. The incredibly spirit has long since learned the tells of the world, is keenly connected to the ley lines and veins and travel throughout it above and below the Earth's surface. She knows the stories it tells, she knows when a creature is born and when another dies to give it space, she knows when a snowflake lands and when another melts, she knows when plants rot and others bloom. She knows, intimately, the ins and outs of her home. Slua is never not able to tell when something occurs, is never not able to tell a story, and as a result she's usually able to learn and read and tell those who visit it.
She's well earned her status as a clairvoyant sort, able to take one short look at a spirit and find their intentions and rip them out and lay it bare to stain the snow. She can read a life story from a simple breath, can sense a worry from a glance, can taste a trouble from a tremor. It's part of why she takes on a guardian role so easily within her home. She can tell when visitors enter and leave, she can tell when they're distraught or content, and she can just barely see the things they carry with them as if actually present. Many have sought her out for a 'reading' of sorts, to be told what it is they crave and to be eased of their worries, but The Sluagh does not offer this even on a good day. She is honest but not cruel, especially not to those who have genuinely sought her out hoping for a misguided aid. They're patient to those who need it, endlessly kind, but they are not a free service.
But that's just them with Esk and animals. Ever kind and gentle, never quick to snap or bare her phantom false teeth. But that doesn't mean they're always this way. They have their enchantment for a reason after all, as well as the rumors that surround their name.
For all of Sluagh's kindness, for all her gentle cares and easy ancient mentorship, she is angry. She cannot remember things from her before like others can, hardly can tell if there even was a before or if it's all feverish dreams that have granted her those sickly sights. She has watched as people rose to power and took and destroyed. She's watched as they hunted and killed what they did not need, purely for the fun of it, has watched as they slaughtered creatures and life for a trophy instead of survival. She's watched as resources were stripped and ruined, as glaciers have begun to melt into mock displays of what they once were. She has watched so many things change and leave and become and die and she angry. So, so angry at the carelessness, at the vanity, at the childish stupidity.
For every Esk and creature The Sluagh is kind to, she has ruined another human's day. For every soul she carries to a safe location, she has turned and bared her teeth at a caravan and ruined their night with the sounds of a Wild Hunt. For everyone she helps, she harms another. She threatens and she terrorizes and she warns away those who dare believe they are strong enough to face the mountains and the snow and all the rumors that paint her boundary red with her name sake. She is vicious when she wants to be, and she does not take kindly to unwanted travelers. She will bare her fangs and storm the camps and ruin the world with screams and wails of uncanny terror till it drives away those who dare thought they could be exempted without a damn good reason. And it's not as if she isn't aware of the tales that surround her and her home - oh no, she is fully aware. She knows that humans understand the myths and folk stories, she knows that Esk hear of the frightening spirit with the shrill screams, that the animals hear tell of the col that seems almost too quiet before becoming too loud all at once. She's aware, incredibly so. And she challenges anyone who believes they're strong enough - anyone vain enough to come at her head on with malicious intent.
Altogether, The Sluagh is an ancient creature with many stories to tell, and with many surrounding them. She's a threat of the polar lands, a threat from the mountains even, but to those who look deeper than rumors and gossip and are respectful with their time spent? She is a friend. A mentor, a mother, a guardian, and a kindness. She admires those who stay true to their wishes and goals, who brave environments and welcome them tenfold, and she admires the honest and the respectable who are upfront with their intentions. She hates liars, despises the needlessly cruel, and pays no mind to those who thing that expectance will get them everything they wish for. Should you visit her col, it is best to tread lightly and respectfully, for their kindness and patience only extends are far as you reciprocate it.
BoundaryThe snowy col that The Sluagh calls home, or the mountain pass, is part of an ancient system of travel routes that've long since faded into the veins of the world and exist as nothing more than a whisper these days. Those old paths have long since been lost to time, but in their place new ones have begun to erupt, and as a result recent years have brought on plenty of foot traffic for the place.
The col itself is almost always covered in a layer of snow no matter the time of year, but blizzards are incredibly common during winter months. Despite the rather vigorous environment, it isn't uncommon to see plenty of animals making their home here. Plenty of cervidae will use the col as their migration route or spring home, birds will nest in the trees, cunning foxes are quick to dig holes in the ground and rabbits and hares are easily spotted during spring time with their fancy warrens. Humans don't typically stay long thanks to The Sluagh's vehement clean up duty, but there is signs of life of past humans. Old campsites long since abandoned and burned out, ski-type vehicles overturned and lost to the woods, the occasional snowed in cabin or two sprinkled here and there deep in the mountain scape. The boundary is surrounded by tundra and woods, encircled by a massive collection of mountains that reach high enough to fog almost all the time at their peaks, and to the untrained or unprepared the environment could easily claim a life. It has, plenty of times, even without Slua's influence causing any strange side affects. As for a haunt, The Sluagh keeps it close to their chest. An old carved out crevice in the side of the mountain, steadily being expanded and opened as the years go by. It's a modest warren, small enough for her to provide that tight comfort, but big enough that most visitors would have no issue getting around and warming up. Old pelts and nesting material of grasses and reeds litter the interior, spare trinkets here and there gifted once upon a time by old friends and companions, and overall it is a rather cozy place. Finding it proves a challenge, especially considering the common weather conditions and how The Sluagh is determined to keep it at least mildly hidden from prying eyes, but that does not mean visitors are unwelcome. You must merely be invited in. |
Her Creator
Aevre and The Sluagh are not,,, friends exactly, but they aren't enemies either. Slua doesn't remember much from her past life, not aside from the chill of the blizzard that took her away, but she is well enough aware to know that Aevre was doing what she thought was best in transforming her. And they're thankful for that - through and through, they are eternally grateful. But The Sluagh does not like nor appreciate the strange sense of pressure that comes from being created by said Wanderer. They don't like the sense of duty Aevre carries, the desire to interact and interrupt the natural order so easily, and they don't enjoy the strange self righteousness the other carries. But though they don't like it, they do understand. The Sluagh is not quiet in her displeasure, but she admits to understanding Aevre's desire to preserve the Polar Biome for as long as possible. She agrees with the sentiment, even, but she uses far different methods of doing so.
Though they have different views, the pair are not hostile towards each other. Instead they stand on a thin line, one they can't quite seem to balance on perfectly, and in turn the relationship they do have is taught and fraying at the edges. Perhaps if they talked, properly talked, it'd be a little nicer. A little easier. But for now, The Sluagh is content to spend most of her time away from the Wanderer, and in turn she is content to assume Aevre feels the same.
Aevre and The Sluagh are not,,, friends exactly, but they aren't enemies either. Slua doesn't remember much from her past life, not aside from the chill of the blizzard that took her away, but she is well enough aware to know that Aevre was doing what she thought was best in transforming her. And they're thankful for that - through and through, they are eternally grateful. But The Sluagh does not like nor appreciate the strange sense of pressure that comes from being created by said Wanderer. They don't like the sense of duty Aevre carries, the desire to interact and interrupt the natural order so easily, and they don't enjoy the strange self righteousness the other carries. But though they don't like it, they do understand. The Sluagh is not quiet in her displeasure, but she admits to understanding Aevre's desire to preserve the Polar Biome for as long as possible. She agrees with the sentiment, even, but she uses far different methods of doing so.
Though they have different views, the pair are not hostile towards each other. Instead they stand on a thin line, one they can't quite seem to balance on perfectly, and in turn the relationship they do have is taught and fraying at the edges. Perhaps if they talked, properly talked, it'd be a little nicer. A little easier. But for now, The Sluagh is content to spend most of her time away from the Wanderer, and in turn she is content to assume Aevre feels the same.
art by Tayleaf
An Esk she Created
Piplup was her first proper creation of the modern times, and an adorable one at that. To say Slua was expecting an overgrown puppy dog to be born from her transformation was very incorrect, but she took it in stride nonetheless.
The relationship between the two of them is very much a parent/child type companionship. Piplup is an eager and excitable figure, and though they're quite the bundle of energy that The Sluagh can't always match, she never discourages the behavior in the slightest. It's a nice change of pace for her, to see a spirit so excited and still able to thrive in the cold environment that the pair make their home instead of something only begrudgingly getting by. To say she's protective of the little soul is an understatement - she adores her child, always letting them hitch a ride where they need to be, always listening to any strange things they come across, always keeping them safe from the unwarranted visitors of the boundary, and she'll always without fail intimidate whomever Piplup meets before accepting them into her haunt. She's a mother through and through for this little Esk, and she fails to let anyone forget that, even on a good day.
Piplup was her first proper creation of the modern times, and an adorable one at that. To say Slua was expecting an overgrown puppy dog to be born from her transformation was very incorrect, but she took it in stride nonetheless.
The relationship between the two of them is very much a parent/child type companionship. Piplup is an eager and excitable figure, and though they're quite the bundle of energy that The Sluagh can't always match, she never discourages the behavior in the slightest. It's a nice change of pace for her, to see a spirit so excited and still able to thrive in the cold environment that the pair make their home instead of something only begrudgingly getting by. To say she's protective of the little soul is an understatement - she adores her child, always letting them hitch a ride where they need to be, always listening to any strange things they come across, always keeping them safe from the unwarranted visitors of the boundary, and she'll always without fail intimidate whomever Piplup meets before accepting them into her haunt. She's a mother through and through for this little Esk, and she fails to let anyone forget that, even on a good day.
An Esk She Created
Ourse was a strange thing for Sluagh to have created, though not entirely out there. The two of them are quite similar when put into comparison: a pair of souls who want to better their boundaries and biome and, inevitably, see it return to their former glory no matter what they may mean. The difference, however, is their ways of going about that. Ourse is a determined creature, has been since the start of her time as a spirit, and The Sluagh is incredibly encouraging of that. But where Ourse is willing to fight, Slua is willing to adapt.
Fighting will get you nowhere in the end, she has said. It makes us no better than those who took to begin with.
Despite their differing views and approaches, though, they aren't unfriendly. They share stories, they talk, they offer ideas to one another, and all in all they are on entirely good terms. The Sluagh is an old thing who's seen too much, and they do their best to cultivate Ourse and her goals and is always offering mentorship and a safe place to rest for when a trip has dragged on long enough. She's Slua's odd daughter, in a way, one who's years beyond her time and taking on tasks that The Sluagh themselves could never have wished upon a child. But she doesn't dare stop her, and instead offers hidden passageways and kind routes to achieve what she desires.
She does worry for Ourse though, somewhere deep in her chest. She fears what may happen to the Esk should she find that her goal is, for lack of a better word, unattainable. Or at least not in the way she desires. But for now she keeps her head high and her senses sharp. There's no need to be a worried sort when her child still needs somewhere to come home to.
Ourse was a strange thing for Sluagh to have created, though not entirely out there. The two of them are quite similar when put into comparison: a pair of souls who want to better their boundaries and biome and, inevitably, see it return to their former glory no matter what they may mean. The difference, however, is their ways of going about that. Ourse is a determined creature, has been since the start of her time as a spirit, and The Sluagh is incredibly encouraging of that. But where Ourse is willing to fight, Slua is willing to adapt.
Fighting will get you nowhere in the end, she has said. It makes us no better than those who took to begin with.
Despite their differing views and approaches, though, they aren't unfriendly. They share stories, they talk, they offer ideas to one another, and all in all they are on entirely good terms. The Sluagh is an old thing who's seen too much, and they do their best to cultivate Ourse and her goals and is always offering mentorship and a safe place to rest for when a trip has dragged on long enough. She's Slua's odd daughter, in a way, one who's years beyond her time and taking on tasks that The Sluagh themselves could never have wished upon a child. But she doesn't dare stop her, and instead offers hidden passageways and kind routes to achieve what she desires.
She does worry for Ourse though, somewhere deep in her chest. She fears what may happen to the Esk should she find that her goal is, for lack of a better word, unattainable. Or at least not in the way she desires. But for now she keeps her head high and her senses sharp. There's no need to be a worried sort when her child still needs somewhere to come home to.
Character Details and Notes
- The Sluagh's vibration or voice is aged and tired, often accompanied by a soft but obvious hiss reminiscent of blizzard winds. She doesn't speak much to strangers, as she's far quicker to use actions instead to communicate, but when she does her words are mature. She speaks with an obvious tell of time, one that speaks of the many years she's spent wandering her home and of all the things they've had to experience. Often times folk call them cold due to their tendency to be silent, but they aren't that necessarily. They're a quiet guardian, a caring mentor, not a whiny gossip mill.
- The size 'sylphlike' is much more of a reference towards her figure. Thin and slender with graceful proportions, she moves quickly and with easy learned motions through the snow that blankets her boundary. In true stature, however, she is a rather intimidating presence, for not only is she long and lithe like a ferret, she's also incredibly tall. Here is a reference of her on all fours compared to an average human.
- They don't visit the Conservatory often, but when they do they can typically be seen with 000 or resting alone. Usually found in their private wing: a big space hidden behind a blizzard, but inside is quite comfortable. Snowdrops and heather and various flowers bloom, and The Sluagh is often visible on a small cliff that faces a massive basin of water. It glows and shines kindly, lotuses and colorful reeds floating by, and visitors are always welcome to join her there.
- As a creator, The Sluagh is a mixed bag. She is kind and over all incredibly considerate, a well learned mentor who can offer an entire hosts of knowledge with how old she is. She's got no preference towards what she creates, though it is rare for her to do anything with Abnormals or humans unless they've proven their worth. With all her kindness though, and her extreme motherly tendencies, The Sluagh is quick to close off if the creation turns needlessly cruel, especially to the biome. She doesn't tolerate that kind of behavior, and she'll be quick to remind them why she's lasted as long as she has without losing herself.
.;Badges;.
credits ; images from pexels