Cnamha
(#63616066)
The Bonewitch
Marrow
Storm Seeker
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Water.
Female Fae
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.61 m
Wingspan
1.66 m
Weight
1.39 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Lionfish
Lionfish
Charcoal
Butterfly
Butterfly
White
Ghost
Ghost
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Fae
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
5
AGI
8
DEF
5
QCK
6
INT
8
VIT
5
MND
8
Biography
| _____ |
When those that have passed on return to dust, Cnamha hears their bones calling up through the ground. She gathers their remains and takes them up into the night, dancing along the treetops and beneath the stars, and hears their deepest wishes for those they have left behind. These wishes become spells in her fingers, cast with the hopes of the departed that they will indeed come true. Cnamha is utterly in love with Ruadh, and he with her, though each of them are too devoted to their callings to pursue any sort of understanding. Unfortunately, the Bonewitch often finds herself courted by Brennan, the Clan Enchanter, allowing for awkward moments when the three of them are around each other. 
Recorded Tales: She eyed him, fearing hopefulness. “Would you… speak for me, then?” She asked. “Would you ask the Green Lady?” “Cnamha…” “You know she would not deny you,” she continued, levelly. “She would not deny us.” But the priest only seemed to withdraw further beneath his hood. “I can’t,” he told her at last, his voice soft, almost a whisper as always, sounding tired. It had been a long day for both of them, then. “You know why I haven’t.” “Your work.” Cnamha was unable to keep just the slightest hint of disappointment out of the word, accentuated by the slight lowering of her crest. “My work,” Ruadh replied, and hesitated. “... I couldn’t... I couldn't devote myself to both you and it. And you…” He hesitated, his wings twitching a little as they settled more comfortably over his shoulders. “You…” “I…?” “… Deserve more than that.” She gave him a vague smile; well, it was something to hear him say that, at least. To know all their years of friendship-skirting-on-romance had not been for nothing. “You know, your work and mine are not so dissimilar, Ruadh.” “No,” he agreed. “That's why I think you understand me when I say... what I do is..." He shifted. "Already a life.” She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it and only exhaled slowly through her nostrils, her wings lowering, and nodded once. “I do.” “Then,” the priest murmured. “I understand.” And she did, truly. The Gladekeeper’s disciples were needed often these days, with the Flights so at odds with one another. And though it was infrequent the Clan of the Green Lady would leave their wood to join the conflicts, if ever, the consequences of even distant battles were far-reaching. Plague could spread, as could Fire, as could Ice. Wind could howl for miles to disturb the leaves of the Darkwood, to bring ill tidings. Shadow could creep. Light travelled far… and so on, and so on, for all the Flights, under all the elements, under all the gods. And it was coming on autumntide, when the last of summer’s warmth died away. Though fall was the Green Lady’s – the Autumn Queen’s – time to rise in glorious gold, red, and green splendour… Soon it would be winter, and winter’s teeth could kill just as surely as any blade. Because when the freezing winds had finished ravaging the landscape, tearing leaf from tree and polishing the surface of the frozen lakes to a beautiful, horribly cold sheen, when the blowing snow had settled and the sun came once again to melt the icicles clinging to branches, when winter’s talons had loosed their grip once more, then… then the desecration it had left in its wake would be known. Then… it would be down to Ruadh, the Bonekeeper, to take the bodies of the dead to the Glade of Graves, to cleanse them, to enchant their souls, to sweetly beseech them to rest. And in time she, Cnamha, the Bonewitch, she would come to the same Glade to gather the remains, the time-bleached bones; she would rise to the night sky and listen to them speak, listen to their stories, listen as they told of their love for the Clan. And these stories, through her, would become spells, enchantments born of those dead and gone. To bless the Darkwood, that all its members prosper. To bless the Clan grounds, that they may be bountiful. To bless the air and the sky and the sun and the moon, that they keep the seasons balanced and moving. This and more she would do, to carry the love and happiness of the dead back to the living. It was just unfortunate, perhaps, that each new year, while she would tend to the wishes of the dead… Her own tended to fall by the wayside. “This is the way of things,” Ruadh said, softly, spreading blood-coloured wings before her. He gave her one small smile. “It is,” she agreed. At that, the priest leapt to the sky, his wings straining to catch the air. “Autumn tidings be with you, Cnamha,” he said as he rose, extending a long, black wool-tipped tail to balance himself aloft. “May the harvest season be kind to you, and to our Clan.” “And to you.” She murmured the time-honoured response almost automatically as she watched him climb higher in the air until he was just below the forest canopy. Then he was gone, back to whatever it was he did during the day when not tending to the Graves. Cnamha sighed and turned back the way she’d come before stumbling upon him in the quiet clearing. Your heart is heavy, the Bones whispered; the bones of creatures long dead and buried under layers of mulch and moss and dirt. Yes, she told them. And all the heavier for your knowing, my friends. Rest in peace. Do not let him go, was the sibilant response. You have Life still; do not waste it. Cnamha considered this a moment. Then she spread her wings and leapt into the air, back toward the Clan’s clearing, back to her own work, her own calling. At least, the one she was sure of. |
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