syllke skyglow "Many times I've lied and many times I've listened, many times I've wondered how much there is to know. Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missin', many many men can't see the open road." Basic Information  Race: Human (Vantha) Birthday: Winter, 493 A.V. age: 17 Gender: Male Physical Description Syllke definitely bears the stamp of the Vantha in his physical appearance. His body is lithe but well toned, suited to the rigors of life in a very harsh climate where the millennia have shaped the Vantha to be compact and durable in the extreme sub zero temperatures. His slender frame belies the hard, lean musculature of a runner’s body. Both tough and agile, Syllke’s ancestry and his own highly energetic personality have blessed him with a body built for long, grueling days of intense physical endeavor – though to date he has not been required to push himself to the limits of his potential. His features too reflect his origins as one of Morwen’s children, come down from the stars along the colored path of lights in the northern skies. His eyes especially mark him as Vantha, almond shaped, and with dark brown irises that shimmer with a shifting spectrum of colors that reflect his mood. Jewel tones of sapphire, emerald, ruby, amethyst – even silver and gold – will radiate either as barely perceptible undertones or as a blazing expression of the intensity of his emotions. And as emotions are often not felt alone and in a vacuum, his eyes may even exhibit multiple colors at once, sometimes in sharply defined bands, other times blending from one into another, often shifting rapidly from one color to another to several as his feelings flow through him. This makes it quite difficult for Syllke to be openly deceptive when it comes to his emotional state of being. His dark hair too reflects his race’s origins, as the colors of the aurora shimmer in its depths, catching the light as he moves and highlighting it with iridescent blues, greens, reds and violets. Syllke is tall for a Vantha, who tend to be a bit shorter than other human races. He stands about 5’10”, and with his slender build weighs in around 130 pounds. His skin is naturally the shade of ivory. But being outdoors, during his explorations, his complexion has darkened to a golden-brown tan, with exposure to wind and sun reflected off of the almost ever present snow. This is generally limited to his face and hands/arms, and the unexposed bits of him remain far lighter. His clothing, to date, is typical of the Vantha culture – predominantly of leather from the domesticated reindeer they raise, animal furs from the indigenous wildlife of the region, and wool spun from the soft undercoat of musk oxen that is gathered in the spring or taken from the animals they hunt. But, since the arrival of Captain Wright in 457, trade with the outside world has grown steadily, and materials and fabrics from the “outside’ world have become more common amongst the Vantha, at least the ones that live in Avanthal. Such fabrics, and garments made from them, are pricey though, and Syllke has had only a few “dress” shirts made from linen. Typically, the traditional Vantha garb, for men consists of leather boots, trousers of leather or wool, a wool shirt, and outer garments of animal skin or leather, or perhaps something like a knitted sweater for “warmer” weather. Due to Morwen’s blessings and protection, the Vantha do not feel the cold like other races do and thus do not have to dress quite as warmly as other humans might in such extreme temperatures. Syllke also is quite fond of jewelry and usually wears one or more necklaces and wrist bands made of a wide variety of materials, such as leather, bone, antler, ivory, stone, shells, and other naturally occurring items, fashioned (usually by himself) into either traditional patterns or his own unique expressions of personal taste. Vantha clothing is also frequently decorated with such materials and colorful stitching/embroidery. Character Concept Describing Syllke is a bit like trying to describe a discrete volume of water, or air. He is free flowing and transient, and at any given time you might have only a snap shot of the whole, larger, fluid picture of this young man. Artistic creativity flows through him, in an avant-garde vision that often seems to keep Syllke’s head in the clouds. His passion, though, finds expression in the most substantial and grounded media, as he is particularly intrigued by bringing forth life from wood, stone, bone and clay. When the need to create is at its peak, he will burn with the intensity of his emotional investment in his work – to the point that his eyes may lighten with glowing ruby tints in their depths. When his creative passion is spent, or during those most stressful times when it seems to have deserted him altogether, his eyes will take on the melancholy deep blues and violet of his lowered emotional state. Ebullience is his most natural state of being, with smiles and laughter that lift him and those around him to often euphoric highs. But crash and burn is always a distinct possibility, and his lows take him to earth, like an animal that needs sanctuary, until he can resurrect himself from the ashes of whatever slump he was in. Like water in a stream, flowing over pebbles of varying hues and shape, each moment of Syllke is transitory, reflecting the light of his artistic essence at multiple depths and levels of intensity. As with most artists, Syllke’s creativity thrives on freedom. His natural inclination for free spirited adventure stems from this need to constantly feed his driving force with external stimuli. Syllke derives his energy to create primarily from his constant exploration of his physical environment. This can be a bit problematic for a Vantha living in Avanthal, as so much of the year the weather is severe, and hostile to most life forms. Skylle has often found himself restless to the point of climbing the walls, and to alleviate that unbearable feeling of being too penned in, he has mastered almost all of the Vantha survival skills so that he can escape to the outdoors even in the worst conditions and recharge his spirit. His art requires more stimulation than he can simply find internally – or, his internal spark requires stoking in a manner that involves his surrounding, including people, and the same old places and faces have less and less catalytic effect over time. He was born a wanderer, a soul that needs space, and he has reached an age where that space is expanding beyond the place of his birth.  Character HistorySyllke was raised in a cocoon of love and artistic energy and endeavor. Born into the Skyglow Hold in the city of Avanthal, he was literally surrounded by an intricate web of family members, woven together by blood or marriage, all of whom had varying levels of interests in the visual arts. His parents were artisans, of course, crafting items for trade with both other Vantha and the outsiders that frequented Avanthal looking for goods to buy and barter. Syllke was an only child, though his parents would have liked to have more, and so he was showered with positive love and nurturing, and given a good deal of freedom to explore his world. He was very close to his paternal grandparents, as his mother had moved to his father’s hold when they married, and thus his father’s parents lived in the sleeping room right next to theirs. Eventually, Syllke moved into the communal children’s room, and truly became part of the supportive network of hundreds of people who were his extended family. It was a safe, warm environment for a child, but as Syllke grew he found it to be a bit stifling. When he was old enough, he loved to slip away and explore different parts of the city, always turning even simple outings into grand adventures – at least in his own vivid imagination. When he returned, he would entertain his friends and family with tales of his wondrous feats of daring, and his parents felt sure his talent lay in storytelling. But it was early days yet, and they gave him as mush room for growth and self exploration as they could in the sometimes crowded confines of the Hold. On many occasions, his immediate family had taken trips to various other of the holds outside of Avanthal, to visit other more distant relatives, or friends, and these forays beyond the city were bliss for Syllke. He thrived on the change in scenery and all that was new and novel, and such sojourns seemed to fuel his creativity like nothing else did. From distant cousins and elders, he learned much of the traditional survival skills of the Vantha, more than was really needed in the city. He was also drawn more and more to traditional crafting and art forms, and discovered he had a great passion for carving which, over time, expanded to sculpting. He was skilled with brush and paint, but he lived for the experience of bringing the tangible materials of earth to life with his hands. His parents encouraged him and with the cultural memory available to him everywhere he went, his skill quickly grew to the point where tradition no longer sufficed. Syllke was a very curious and inquiring type of boy, and he wanted to try new techniques, new materials, new ideas about composition and meaning. His initiatives, however, did not always meet with the smiling approval of those around him. Creativity was one thing – head tilting bizarreness was another. Not an uncommon experience for an artist – true creativity lying primarily in seeing the world in a different ways from others. Syllke wasn’t bothered in the least by any less than positive critiques of his work. But he did feel a little – frustrated. There was a world beyond Avanthal – there were ideas and experiences and whole entire cultures and environments that were wildly different from his own. Throughout his adolescence, Syllke thought more and more that he needed to find those worlds. It was either that or shrivel up inside and die from the lack of stimulation that he was getting in his ice shrouded home. As was usually the case, his parents were understanding and supportive, and they were well able to put together the means for Syllke to buy passage on a trading ship heading towards Denval. With more funds put by – not a huge amount but enough to see him through for a while, Syllke made his teary but excited good byes and dozens of his relatives saw him off at the harbor. His plans were loose, flexible, amorphous – get out and see the world, create the art that he felt within as it manifested itself in different environments, and have a hell of a good time doing it. First stop – Denval. The rest is, as yet, unscripted, and that in and of itself makes Syllke smile.  Training Arcana [None] Gnosis 1 Mark from Morwen, Ice Reaving Skills :
Lore :
[b]Languages  Fluent: Vani Basic: Common Poor: Nari Equipment and Possessions
Ledger
[note: per arrangement with DS in Summer and Fall of 511 there were no living expenses (included in his employment)] Thread List Summer, 511 A.V. :
Fall, 511 A.V. :
Winter, 511 A.V. :
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Syllke Skyglow
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Syllke Skyglow
by Syllke Skyglow on August 18th, 2011, 3:27 am
Last edited by Syllke Skyglow on October 12th, 2012, 7:41 pm, edited 19 times in total.
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Syllke Skyglow - free spirit
- Posts: 317
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- Joined roleplay: August 14th, 2011, 7:45 pm
- Race: Human, Vantha
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Syllke Skyglow
by Syllke Skyglow on October 19th, 2011, 7:15 pm
Stories By Syllke Wolf And Wolverine :
As told to Murphy by Syllke in explanation of where the wolf kelvics came from
"Long ago, before your race walked the earth, there was a man who lived in a hold off away from the city. One day, when he was out hunting, he came across a dead wolf. Along with the mother wolf, all of her pups had died of the cold, but one. This one, the man took and tucked under his parka, carrying him home. Now, this hunter had a young son – a boy who was gentle and kind and loving – a good artist and a wonderful story teller and singer. But there was something wrong with the boy’s legs and they did not move, so he must sit by the fire or be carried about by his father or brothers. But all who knew him, loved him for his kind heart and bright smile. The hunter gave the wolf cub to his youngest son and let him raise him on caribou milk. The two became the closest of friends and were inseparable companions. Where the boy went, so too would go the wolf. And where the wolf was to be found, there would be the boy, right by his side. The boy grew to be a young man, and the wolf grew to be large and strong and fierce, always loyal to the boy and his protector. The young man was old enough to look for a wife, and his eyes fell upon a girl who was lovely as the moon, with raven hair to her waist and eyes with all the colors of the lights in the sky. He never thought that she might look back, but, shyly, she smiled at him, and his heart beat faster. She had heard about his gentle, wise ways and she was not bothered that he could not hunt like the other young men. His stories made her smile and his songs made her heart melt like the ice on the spring rivers. The two fell in love. But her father was a jealous, greedy man, and did not wish to see his daughter leave his side merely for the sake of love. So when finally the young man asked for his daughter’s hand in marriage, the father said “My wife needs a new parka. Bring me a caribou hide.” Of course, the young man had no way to hunt the caribou. But when he lay in his bed at night, and whispered his sorrows to his friend, the wolf, who was very, very smart, the wolf ran out and killed a caribou, dragging it back so the young man could skin it, and present it to his lover’s father, as instructed. The old man only grunted and said, “A good parka needs ermine fur for decoration. Bring me ermine skins, and then we’ll talk.” Once again, the young man whispered in his friend’s ear and once again the wolf leapt up and ran off to hunt and kill ten fat ermine. The young man skinned them and presented the furs to his lover’s father. But yet again, the old man made a sour face and said, “A good parka needs wolverine fur along the hood, to keep away the ice. Bring me a wolverine pelt and you may marry my daughter.” Now, the young man was greatly dismayed, for the wolverine is the fiercest animal in the north – fast and strong and vicious. He did not want his friend to get hurt, so he kept the old man’s demand to himself. The wolf was saddened by his friend’s tears, though he did not know their cause, until one day, the wolf heard the young girl sighing as well, and she said softly to herself, “Alas, I will never get to marry my true love for he has no way to bring my cruel father a wolverine’s pelt.” Quickly, the wolf ran, hunting for a day and a night until he found wolverine in his den. There was a fierce and bloody battle, and the wolf was bitten and clawed many time over, but finally he managed to kill wolverine and slowly, slowly dragged him back to his friend. The young man gasped in astonishment, but his joy lasted only a moment as the wolf, his best friend and brother, lay down at his feet and died, injured beyond healing by his fight with wolverine. The young man wept until he could weep no more, and though his family tried to remove the body of his friend from his grasp, he would not let go. Finally, exhausted, the young man fell asleep. A dream came to him. It was the wolf, who smiled and said, “In the morning, skin wolverine. Then skin my body. Place my pelt over your shoulders and take the wolverine skin to your lover’s father.” The young man awoke, his face still stained with tears. But he felt strong and did as his wolf had told him to do. When he placed the wolf skin over his own shoulders, suddenly his feet twitched. And then his knees. And finally his legs jumped. But as he watched in amazement, he saw his feet and hands become paws. His legs and arms became hairy and stretched to the ground. He turned when he felt the twitch of a tail and he swiveled his pointy ears about. For he had turned into a wolf. Instead of being filled with dread, remembering his dream, the wolf grabbed the wolverine pelt in his jaws and loped away to his lover’s hold. Throwing the skin at her father’s feet, the wolf suddenly transformed back into a young man – but one who could stand and walk and run like all the others, for he now had the strength of his wolf inside him. Taking his delighted lover’s hand, he ran back to his own hold with her, laughing all the way, and that very day they married. The young man told the girl his secret, and he found he could transform into a wolf whenever he chose, and the girl loved them both dearly, and together they raised many healthy, happy children, some of whom could change to wolf form, like their father.” The Raven And The Melon :
As told to Seodai by Syllke after Syllke's first encounter with a melon
"Long ago, in a hold far to the south of Avanthal, in a land where the summer sun danced in the sky long enough for Bala to bless the earth with growth, there lived a creature, far up on a mountain. It was Raven. He lived by himself, and was quite lonely, as he looked down to the village below, in the valley. He wished to make friends with the villagers, but when they saw his large size and huge black cloak of feathers, they were afraid and they drove him away. So alone he sat, in his mountain home. Below in the village lived a boy who loved always to be throwing things. He threw rocks. He threw sticks. He threw his little sister’s rag doll. Often the village elders scolded him and told him not to be so naughty and to behave. But still, whenever he came upon something handy, he would pick it up and throw it. One day a traveler came to the village. He was a trader and he carried with him some seeds. He told the villagers that they should take the seeds and plant them in the earth and ask for Bala’s blessings and a wonderous vine would grow curling out of the ground. From that vine, flowers would bloom and from these small green balls would form. The balls would grow and lighten in color and grow some more, until they were bigger then a baby’s head. Then the globes should be plucked, the traveler said, and sliced open, and inside would be the most delicious fruit they had ever tasted. It was called “Melon.” The villagers were very happy and eagerly traded furs and carvings and smoked fish for the precious seeds. But the naughty boy saw the seeds and when the elders were not looking, he stole them, and he ran far out into the fields. He began to throw the seeds as far as he could. One by one, further and further they went. Most dropped to the ground. But one went sailing – high, high, and higher. It did not stop, until it was far, far up in the sky. And still it kept going, until it finally stopped way, way, way up in the heavens. The boy was amazed. When the villagers found out what the boy had done, they were furious. He had wasted the precious seeds! They had traded all their goods for nothing – and now they would never taste the most delicious fruit ever. They beat him and sent him to bed without supper. That night, hungry beyond belief, the boy crawled out of the hold and went out in search of some summer berries to ease the pain in his stomach. He looked up in the sky and he stopped, his mouth open. It was night, and the sun had set. This was a time before there was any body that shown in the night sky. But the boy stood and stared because now there was something up there. It was a small sliver of orange – right where he had seen the wonderful seed plant itself. He watched and it slowly rode through the night sky, lending a pale but beautiful light to the land below. Finally the boy went to bed, too amazed and fearful to tell anyone of what he had seen. But the next night, when he stepped outside, to see if the sliver was there again in the dark sky above, his mouth opened wide – for now the sliver was bigger. Not by much, but definitely bigger. He watched this strange new being slide through the inky darkness, and finally went back to bed. The next night was the same, and the one after that the same again, with each night the orange slice growing larger still. On the fifth night, frightened and dismayed, the boy finally summoned up his courage and went and called the elders to come see. The old men looked skywards in disbelief as the boy tearfully told them what he had done – how he had thrown the one seed so far that it had sailed right up into the heavens, and now . . . well, it looked like it had sprouted. The elders were shaken and confused and afraid, and they talked and muttered amongst themselves, but they could think of nothing that they could do about this odd happening. For many nights, the villagers would watch the evening sky anxiously, and when the sun departed and the heavens darkened, each night the sliver would appear, larger and larger with each passing day. Another discovery was made, one which brought some joy to the village but which was overshadowed by the growth of the seed in the sky. When the boy had gone out to look at where the other seeds had fallen to the earth, he found the vines the traveler had spoken of already sprouting. Each day the plants grew tremendously – perhaps Bala had already blessed them. Within a few days, the fruit was bigger than a baby’s head and hesitantly, one was plucked, and warily sliced open. Inside, the villagers were amazed to find a fruit the exact color of its brother in the sky. So it was that the villagers now knew for sure – the thing in the night sky was indeed – a melon! When the villagers tasted the firm, juicy flesh of that first melon, they smiled broadly for the first time in many days. It was every bit as sweet and delicious as the traveler had said. They ate and ate of the wondrous orbs and for a while, they were happy. But when night fell again, their smiles and their happiness vanished. The orange slice was now almost a big, glowing circle of light. The villagers were afraid. What if the melon in the sky never stopped growing? What if it grew and grew and grew until it filled the whole night sky? What if it pushed the sun out of her rightful place and never again would they feel her warm kiss or bask in her bright light? What would they do? What could they do? The villager elders held a long, long meeting. They talked for hours and hours and hours. Then finally, they came to the boy and said, “We have an idea. Because you are the cause for all this trouble, it will be up to you to try to fix it. We want you to go up on the mountain, to the home of Raven. Raven is a big bird, and always hungry. He is brave and bold, and you must be too. Ask Raven to fly into the sky and eat the melon. Then the skies will be safe and the sun will not have to run away. The boy considered this carefully and then nodded. It seemed like a good idea, and though Raven was big and scary, he knew he needed to be brave to help his people. So off he went, climbing and climbing and climbing until he was almost as high as the clouds. Finally he reached Raven’s home. Respectfully and politely, but with his heart in his throat, he greeted Raven as an elder, and he asked, “Raven, the people of my village below have need of your services. We must ask a favor of you. In return, the elders say they will grant you any boon that you would have.” Raven cocked his shiny black head and looked intelligently at the boy with his bright, dark eye. “Tell me what you would have me do, boy.” He croaked. The boy, thankful that Raven was not trying to eat him, pointed up to the sky, which even then was beginning to darken. “You have seen the strange object in the night sky, and how it grows bigger and bigger? It is a melon, like this.” The boy held out a slice of melon for Raven to see. “I was naughty and threw a seed up so far it planted itself in the sky. And now it grows bigger and bigger still. We are afraid it will grow so big it takes over the heavens and chases away the sun. We thought, perhaps, that you might fly up there and eat the melon. Then we would not have to be afraid.” Raven looked at the boy thoughtfully, then pecked with his sharp beak, but not at the boy – at the melon he held in his hand. Raven took a piece of melon in his mouth and tasted the sweet juice and soft flesh. Slowly he nodded his head. “I will do as you ask.” He said finally. The boy smiled and smiled, and asked, “And what boon do you require?” “I will tell you that when I return.” Raven replied, and launching himself off the mountain, he spread his great dark wings and soared up, higher and higher. By the time he reached the melon in the sky it was a huge round circle. Slowly and methodically, Raven began to eat. He ate and ate and ate, and ate some more. But the melon was so big that he could only reduce its size by just one small slice, and that took all night. Finally, he was so full he could barely fly, but he glided back down to the mountain where the boy waited for him. For many days, the raven flew back into the night sky and ate away at the melon, bit by bit, until finally one last night it appeared to be gone. For the last time, he flew back to the boy. The boy smiled broadly, relieved at last. “Thank you, Raven. Many thanks. Now, what will you ask of us?” Raven looked at the boy in a kindly way. “All I ask is that you and the other villagers be my friends, and allow me to come live amongst you, for I am lonely.” The boy’s face fell a bit. For himself, he was happy to be Raven’s friend, for he had seen that Raven was a clever, gentle soul. But he did not know how the others would feel. But – they had agreed. “Alright.” He said softly. “Come with me then.” Raven happily followed the boy down the mountain until they reached the village. There they were met by smiling villagers who were overjoyed that the sky melon was gone. But when the boy explained Raven’s request, they scowled and grumbled. But at last they agreed, grudgingly. They had promised – they would keep their promise, for now. Many whispered that, as the sky melon was gone, perhaps in a bit they could find some excuse to shoo Raven away. But – clever Raven. He knew of the treachery of men, and he had eaten all but one small bit of the sky melon. The next night, a tiny sliver appeared again, and over the next days, it grew, larger and larger. The villagers were unhappy once more, and once again, they asked Raven to help. So when the melon was a big orange circle, Ravn flew up and ate away at it, until finally once more it was gone, though he was careful to leave a small piece. And so it was that Raven and his kind came to live amongst man, a somewhat unwelcome guest, but always happy to eat up anything man deems unwanted. The sky melon still rides above us, for Raven is always too clever to eat it entirely. The boy and Raven grew very close and were great friends, with Raven whispering wisdom into the boy’s ear so that when he grew up, he became a respected and admired elder of his people." Nikka And Susitna: The Tale Of The Dolphin :
As told to Veldrys in explanation of the origins of the dolphin
“When the world was very young, and Laviku was given dominion over the seas, he took many of the creatures within its shores as wives, to bear him many children. One of these was a beautiful seal, with eyes as round as the moon, glowing blue under the waves. She had lovely, dark fur, silky to the touch, and her song was plaintive and haunting. When Laviku lay with her, she conceived a son, Nikka, who walked on land with two legs as a human would. Like his mother, Nikka had silky, thick, dark hair that hung to his waist, and shone a deep black-blue in the sun, and deep dark blue eyes, that sometimes shone grey-silver. His body was sleek and dark in color, powerful but lithe, and he could swim like the seals, his cousins. He had a voice like no other human, and when he sang, he moved all around him to tears for the sadness of the sound, though it was wonderful beyond compare. One day, when Nikka walked on the land, he encountered a beautiful, young hunter, Susitna. His dark hair shimmered with the lights from the sky, and his eyes sparked with red, a sign of his passion when he looked upon Nikka’s loveliness. They walked together for a while, and soon enough they fell in love and they lay together as well, deliriously happy in each other’s arms. But Laviku was enraged. His son had chosen a hunter for his lover – a boy who went out upon the seas and killed with his harpoon – even Nikka’s own cousins. But no amount of argument from his father would convince Nikka that Susitna was someone to be despised, and he clung to his human lover with great passion and fierceness. Nikka, realizing how angry his father was, swore to protect Susitna, and every time his lover ventured onto the ocean, Nikka was by his side. Frustrated, at last Laviku called upon Ionu for assistance. Ionu disguised Laviku as his son and when next Susitna called upon Nikka to come to him, Ionu disguised himself as the human boy and distracted Nikka, whilst Laviku traveled with Susitna onto the swell of the sea. Spotting a pod of whales, Susitna and his fellow hunters began their pursuit. Laviku, who held Susitna’s harpoon, rose up when the boy was busy looking forward out to sea, and struck him in the head with the harpoon. Before any of the other hunters could react, Laviku tossed Susitna into the water, as food for the sharks, and jumped overboard, resuming his true form. Nikka’s mother, however, had learned of her husband’s trickery, and waited by the boat. Catching Susitna in her flippers, she carried him to the shore, placing him on the beach and crying out in her plaintive voice for her son. Nikka, already in the arms of treacherous Ionu, heard her call and leapt up. Ionu, laughing, changed back into his mysterious form and fled, his job done. Anguished at what this might portend, Nikka ran to his mother’s side and sobbed with grief at the sight of his fallen lover. His long, dark hair flew about widly with his keening wail, and the sound of his misery was heard throughout Mizahar. Bending over Susitna’s cold, wet body, with his head pressed to the chest where no heart beat could be heard, Nikka made a vow. If any would hear his plea, he cried out, he would gladly give his life for that of his lover. There was one who heard Nikka’s passionate vow – Cheva. Moved by the young man’s love, grief and loyalty, Cheva came to him where he knelt beside his dead lover. With her hand on Nikka’s head, she asked, “Would you really do this for your lover?” Nikka nodded emphatically, despite his mother’s wailing. Cheva smiled, saying, “Then all is not lost, for your friend can yet be roused. Kiss him once, and he will spit out the water he has swallowed. Breathe your life into him, as yours exits your body.” Without hesitation, Nikka placed his warm lips over the chilled, blue lips of his lover. One last time, he kissed Susitna, and breathed his life back into the lungs of his love. But even as Susitna’s chest began to rise, his body changed in form. The ocean spirit of his lover filled him and he took the shape of a great fish. But the hole on the top of his head, where Laviku had pierced it with the harpoon, remained. With his last breath, Nikka dragged Susitna to the water and released him, in his new dolphin form, even as he himself fell face first into the water, never to swim again. As Nikka’s long hair floated like a cloud about him, his mother begged Cheva to have mercy and restore her son. Cheva took pity on the seal, and though she could not bring Nikka fully back to life, because of the value she placed on the deep and enduring strength of his love for Susitna, she transformed him into sea weed. His dark hair turned deep shades of green and purple and brown, and to this day, Nikka is a treasure of the ocean, providing a haven for many, many types of sea creatures, and sustenance for both man and animal, fish and bird.” Morwen and Sivah:The Coming of The Vantha :
As told by Syllke to Vanos in explanation of the love between Morwen and Sivah and the origins of the Vantha people
“Long, long ago, when the earth was very young still, when Leth and Syna had just begun their dance in the heavens above us, when the other gods and goddesses cast looks one at another and smiled and felt the stirrings in their hearts and stomachs that signaled deep feelings, Morwen, the most beautiful of all the goddesses, walked over the earth, moving south to a place of light and heat. Moving with grace across a tundra devoid of life – brown and tan and bleak, she came upon a lovely palace, made of the shifting snow of that land – a magic snow that was not cold, that did not melt, and which felt like grit in your hand. As she approached the doors carved of the bones of the monsters of the region – strange beasts with humps on their back and stomachs that could store water, as the land held none - she marveled that they opened to her gentle touch. Entering, she was delighted to spy a rushing geyser – like the melting run off of a great glacier, all contained in a pool that seemed to be made of ice, though it was only cool to the touch and seemed more of stone, though it was colored all fifty three of the shades of blue. She bent to scoop some of the water into her delicate hand and as she raised it to her perfect lips, she saw that she was not alone. Across the way from her, on the other side of this torrent, was a man – but a man like no other that she had ever seen. He stood tall and proud, his face open and free and noble. His dark hair swung loose about his shoulders and down to his waist. His skin was a golden-brown, as if kissed by Syna herself. His eyes were a deep green, like jade, or the ocean, or the grass, or the leaves on the trees, or the scales on the leaping trout. They were all those living things. His only garment was a wrap of bright cloth – all the colors of the flowers on the tundra, which he had knotted about his waist. When he spoke, his voice was like water running over the smooth stones of a brook awash with a spring melt, and his words were like sweet honey. Morwen felt the wriggling of a fish in her stomach when she looked upon him and she loved him from that moment. He invited her to walk, and talk, and dine on strange fruits and foods and drink clear water from his geyser, which he called a fountain. He asked her her name and where she had come from, and he told her his name was Sivah. She knew him then to be a god, and her love grew stronger still, and they lay together, many and many a night. Over the course of time, Morwen invited Sivah to come with her to her realm – the lands of the north. But Sivah was stubborn. He insisted that he could not withstand the cold and the ice, that he preferred his warm and sunny lands, and that Morwen should instead stay with him there, and be his lover and forget her domain. But this Morwen was reluctant to do. Instead she proposed a compromise – let Sivah live with her in her realm for half the year, and she would live in the far south for an equal number of months, each to bring his or her gifts to the land they were residing in. Still, Sivah refused, wanting only for beautiful Morwen to be his obedient lover. Morwen, though, could not give her heart to such an unyielding god. Finally, they parted. She left selfish Sivah and returned to her home in the far north. Though he had not been a companion fit to be by her side, for all his lack of regard for her, still, she missed him and was lonely. Though she held some small hope that she might yet be with child by him, such was not to be. Barren, she faced the future with none to share it with. With tears in her eyes, she turned her lovely face to the heavens, and looked to the stars for comfort. Her tears caught their glimmering light, and where they fell to the frozen ground, there a path sprung up. Glowing with all the lights of both sun and moon, star and rainbow, and the light of Morwen’s heart, the path stretched upwards – up and up and up – right up to the stars themselves. And as Morwen watched, amazed, there came a people down this trail of heavenly light. From the stars, from another world beyond the stars, her tears had called to these children of her heart. They were our ancestors, the Vantha – Morwen’s children – come to be her company and live in the world she made for them – the frozen north. They came to comfort her and be led by her and to live under her protection, always. She loved them with all her heart – more than she could ever have loved Sivah – and we loved her in return, for she made life possible in the ice and snow. As a reminder of where we came from, Morwen placed the star path in our eyes, so we will never forget who we are, no matter where we roam. And when Leth and Sina had completed their first dance and the seasons were created, they asked Morwen if she would share a time with lovely Sivah. But she refused, and said she would not so much as touch him now that she had her children to care for and to love. So Leth and Sina asked Bala and Tivaku to step between Morwen and her former lover, so that winter and summer might never come face to face, but always there must be Spring and Autumn, for the one to retreat to their own abode, before the other steps forth.” The Boy Who Flew :
As told by Syllke to Xelhes, who asked for a story
“Once, long, long, long ago, there was a boy who lived in a peaceful village. The people of the village were happy and their lives were not too hard. There was food, and sickness rarely found them. Bears and wolves did not bother them. Ghosts and evil spirits did not plague them. They had a good life. But there was one among them who was not as happy as the others, or so it seemed. There was a boy who was smaller than those his age. His bones were delicate and his body was light. The other children teased him because he could not run as fast or climb as well. When they wrestled and tumbled about, he stayed clear and would not fight. The adults called him babyish. The children used more cruel words, and picked on him mercilessly. The boy became aloof to an extreme and never seemed to want to become one of the others. He would sit by himself and watch the sky as if he was dreaming. Finally, his father, in near despair, took the boy to the council of elders. The stern, but kind and wise, old men told the boy, “When you grow up, you must be a great hunter. You must learn to use the bow and the spear and the harpoon. You must learn to drive a team of dogs and set snares and wait patiently on the ice by the seal holes. You must learn to be brave and fierce and without fear. But you can not do these things if you do not begin now.” The boy said nothing, so one elder asked him, “Why do you not play with the other children? Are you afraid?” The boy said nothing. So another elder tried. “Why do you sit and dream when you should be strengthening your body and learning the skills of the hunter?” Still the boy did not reply, so the third elder spoke. “Each must pull his weight here. What will you do when you grow up, boy?” Finally, in a firm, clear voice, the boy said simply, “I will fly.” The elders could not help but snort and scoff. The father looked shocked and embarrassed. But a fierce gleam was in the boy’s eyes. Try as they might, to cajole and tease and threaten the boy to explain himself, he said nothing more. Finally, the elders consulted with the father in private, and told him their opinion was that the child was not right in the head, and there was nothing to be done about it. Sadly, the father took the boy home. Of course, life in a village is filled with gossip, and in no time at all, word had spread about what the boy had told the elders. The other children hooted with delight, having even more ammunition with which to tease the boy. They would flap their arms like wings and hop about and make the sound of a croaking raven whenever they saw him. More and more, the boy took to wandering up into the hills around the village. He would find his favorite spot looking out over the ocean and turn his face to the sky. But, soon enough, the children discovered his sanctuary and would follow him even there, to tease him further. The boy seemed not to notice, though, which made some of the children finally stop following him. But there was one boy who was a real bully, and he would not let the boy be in peace. One day, he thought of a plan and he gathered the other children together. They all went to the cliff where the boy sat, and their self-appointed leader stepped forward. “Well?” he asked boldly. “Has gazing at the sky all day taught you to fly yet?” All the children giggled and snorted and laughed. The boy said nothing and did not even turn around to face his tormentor. The bully asked again, “Have you learned to fly?” Others of the bully’s followers added their own taunts and there were ugly words called out. Still the boy sat silently looking up at the sky. It was as if he hadn’t heard them at all. This infuriated the bully and he stepped forward again so that he could grab the boy by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to stand. His hands gripped the boy’s shoulders and he towered over him. “We want to see you fly! Show us what you have learned! Show us what looking at the sky has taught you!” The other children pressed in closer too, and they all began to demand to see him fly. “Fly! Fly! Fly!” They began to chant in unison, as the bully leered evilly in the boy’s face. The boy’s hands went to the bully’s chest and he shoved hard, but the much bigger boy held tight to his shirt. There was a struggle, and to this day no-one can say what exactly happened next. Most of the children said the boy broke free and lost his balance and fell. A few said the bully threw him off the cliff. But one very small girl said she was sure that the boy broke free and jumped of his own accord, launching himself out into space. The children watched in horror as down towards the rocks below he plunged. Then all agreed, there was a flash of light so bright they could not look for a moment, and the next thing they knew a big, beautiful, fierce looking bird of prey swopped down to the narrow shoulder of land touching the lapping waves far below them, its wings almost grazing the tops of the jagged boulders before the bird soared in a graceful arc, heavenward. Up and up he came, right at them, and they all of them, except one, yelled and screamed and cowered and ran. But when he reached the level of the cliff, he veered off, giving a mighty screech. The one little girl, though, who never took her eyes off of him, claimed she heard a faint laugh within that cry. She said it was the most joyous sound she had ever heard. The bird then flew to the village, circling overhead. All the villagers came running to look and they marveled at the size and speed and fierce appearance of this bird the likes of which they had never seen. Its feathers were golden brown and its eyes were deep gold as well. Its talons were long and sharp and though it was the largest bird they had ever seen, it flew as easily as a puff of milkweed down on the wind. After it had circled three times, the bird gave a mighty cry once more and flew off to the south. The children had returned by this point and told their tale. The bully sobbed hysterically and his mother wailed inconsolably, sure that the boy turned bird would wreak some further evil magic on her child. The villagers were in an uproar, sure their village would be cursed by the same magic that had transformed the boy. The elders were in a quandary and had no answers. All they could do was to pray to the gods for protection, and wait. But the boy-bird never returned. Several years later, though, the villagers spotted the first of many such birds to come in the Fall and make their winter homes on that shore. The first to come were juveniles, who exchanged their grayish brown drab for the bright golden brown glory of that first bird. In the Spring, they departed, only to return in the Fall with more juveniles. The elders concluded that these were the children of the boy turned bird, and after many seasons had passed, they realized that the birds meant no harm and they even went so far as to share their winter stocks of fish with the creatures. For they looked upon them as a token of forgiveness for their heartlessness and began to believe that the birds brought the village good luck. They named the birds in honor of the boy who had flown, whose name had been Nektoralik – eagle, in the common tongue.” The Snow Goose And The Hunter :
As told by Syllke to Seodai
Long ago, in the south of Morwen’s lands, there was a hold of hunters, who ranged in the great forests of spruce and pine, harvesting the animals placed there by Caiyha for man to take his sustenance from. In this hold, lived a beautiful maiden, the only child of a woman whose husband had died long before, in the death hug of a great brown bear. The woman loved her daughter more than life itself, and doted on her. But the girl was not spoiled and was sweet and loving to all. Now it came to pass, that when the girl reached that time when she passes into womanhood, her beauty caught the eye of the shaman of the hold – their healer and religious leader. This man came to desire her, with every fiber of his being, even though he was old and ugly. He went to the girl’s mother and asked for her hand in marriage, but the mother, of course, put him off – for she loved her child and did not wish such a match upon her, despite the shaman’s importance. She told him no many times over, in gentle and courteous ways, for the shaman was a powerful man. She said her daughter was too young and that, as it was her only child, she wished to keep the girl by her side for a while longer. In this way, she put off the shaman, though she worried what was to happen when he would no longer take no for an answer. Now it happened that in a neighboring hold, also of great hunters, there lived a handsome, strong young hunter. It came to pass that at a potlatch celebration, he came to lay eyes on the maiden and fell instantly in love with her. She had seen him too, and thought he was the most beautiful young man she had ever seen. Discretely, they met from time to time, but always with her mother’s knowledge and approval, for she greatly desired this young hunter to be her son-in-law and provide well for her and her daughter. But she could not very well allow him to marry the girl, not yet – for what would the shaman say? So the mother told the same story – that the girl was too young yet and she wanted to keep her at home a while longer. The girl and the hunter were very much in love, but patiently they waited until the day when they could wed. Several years passed and many times, at the beginning of each new season, the shaman would ask again for permission from the old woman to marry the beautiful young girl. Each time the mother replied in the same way. Finally, the shaman grew tired of waiting, and rumors came to his ears. He heard that the girl was being courted by a handsome hunter from the neighboring hold. Enraged and alarmed that he would lose his much coveted prize, the evil shaman kidnapped the maiden and took her deep, deep into the woods. There he worked an evil spell on her and transformed her into an enchanted snow goose, so that she would be his and his alone and her mother would never be able to marry her off to the hunter Her poor mother! The woman was so distraught that she wandered out onto the tundra looking for her. She walked for many, many miles and found her way into the forest. Still she walked, searching and calling for her lost child. Finally, she collapsed, and she began to cry crystalline tears, hot and steaming as they hit the frozen ground. She cried and cried and cried. She cried so much, that her tears formed a lake and her daughter, now a goose, sailed over her head and around and around but the mother did not know her for who she really was. The goose, honking sadly, settled to live on the lake, despairing that she would ever be with her mother or lover again. One day, as fate would have it, the young hunter was in the forest, and happened to stumble upon the magic lake. He was amazed, for he could not recall there being a lake there before. Still, he was a hunter, so he took his bow from his shoulder and began to search for his dinner. Suddenly a snow goose appeared, circling about his head. Of course, it was his former lover, and she, seeing the handsome young man, was trying frantically to get his attention, calling to him in her plaintive, haunting way. The hunter was dumbfounded. He had never seen a goose act like this before – it seemed that it wished to be taken by his arrow. He raised his bow, and aimed – an easy shot. But he hesitated, he was so taken by the bird’s great beauty. He slung his bow back on his shoulder and sat down, watching the bird, which had come to land on the water, so close to him he could have reached out and touched her. And as he sat and watched the bird, watching him, the waters, formed of the mother’s tears, rippled in the wind and the reeds that grew out of the magic waters sang to him, telling him of the evil one’s spell and that the goose was really the girl that he so loved, who had been lost all those months ago. The hunter called the goose to him and when he looked in her eye, he saw that what the water and the wind told him was true. But alas, he had no power to break the shaman’s spell. The two lovers were a pitiful sight indeed. But the hunter vowed to his love that he would find a way to break the spell, or die trying, for he could not live without her, having now found her again, and in such a pitiful state. Sadly, the hunter returned to his hold and consulted with his own shaman about what could be done. This shaman consulted the stars and told the hunter that the only way to break the spell was to vow his undying love to the maiden in front of all the people of both holds, and to never then break that vow, or she would then revert to her goose form forever. So the hunter arranged for a huge potlatch to be held, and he invited everyone from both his hold and the maiden’s – to celebrate his marriage to his one true love, he told the people. Of course, the evil shaman became very suspicious of what the hunter might be up to. He followed the young man as he made his way back to the lake, to tell his lover what he had done and that she must not be afraid and come to the celebration, so that he could vow his eternal love for her in front of all their people. The evil shaman was furious. He built a woman out of mud and sticks and rocks, and cast a spell on it so that it took the form of the lovely maiden. When the big dinner got underway, the enchanted mud woman appeared at the edge of the huge bonfire, and the hunter ran forward, thinking somehow the spell was already broken. In front of all, he declared his eternal love for the mud woman, just as the goose arrived, circling overhead and honking plaintively. But it was no use – she was too late. Before his horrified eyes, the one he thought was the lovely maiden transformed into a pile of mud and sticks and rocks, and too late the hunter saw the goose, as she flew off back to her lake. In despair, he ran after her. Just as he arrived at the edge of the lake, he saw the goose dive down into the frigid water, for she could not bear to live as a goose, without her lover. He too could not face the future without his real love by his side, and he threw himself into the lake, to drown. But . . . out of the lake rose the two lovers, the maiden returned to her true form. They ascended into the night sky and there they remain, for all eternity, forever wrapped in each other’s embrace – the snow goose and the hunter* *the Vantha name for one of the constellations |
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Syllke Skyglow - free spirit
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