Vorkraft

Insightful|Polite to a Fault|Forgetful|Nosey

A tall one this one, able to lean over most any clanmates shoulder to get a cupped ear full of their conversation. Its no matter, if it doesn't pretain to him or his love of baking then its quickly forgotten anyway. He is really, under all of that flour, red as a Pomegranate aril, but he is an industrious worker. His green eyes are kind as he nods, listening in on your conversation as if he too were included, and is more than happy to give you his opinion as well. Were he not a fantastic purveyor of both morsels and morals, then he surely would've been kicked out for his eaves dropping.


The Mystic before him sat, hunched in an odd way for a Bogsneak, and closed her tubby hands around eachother. Speaking over her hands she began to swat her head side to side on her long neck, a string of wavering gaelic coming from her maw. As she did so she opened the hands slowly, and from her palms formed what looked like a blood droplet half the size of an egg. It shimmered, and lines began to crawl across the surface like a harvestmans legs. It swirled in a circle, and she stopped when it piqued, the glow all but fading. Opening her eyes, her oddly slit pupils fixed on him she recited. "By Yew and by Pine, your fortune is told. You will never leave this place, it shall forever be your home. You may have to fight for it one day, do so without fear for the crimson of your hide denotes strength and ferocity. Keep this close, always, and bad luck will never befall you. It is your Fadeyrystone, and scrawled upon it is your fate." She deposited the stone in his outstretched palm, and settled into meditation once more.