Scythe | slithcreun

Gender: Female

Affinity/Parents: Red Sands

Special Stats: None
Circle: Deliriums Flight
From: Sionayra

Scythe

She is named for a harvester, and indeed she does harvest.

Scythe is unique. Her body is marked by her talent, though the magic that touches her is small. She is aware of this difference, aware of the way others of her kind do not have bones visible beneath flesh. It made her shy, once.

Her strength comes from a history that sets the ideal example for her species. Uncertain and quiet, she wandered into the forming of a Circle and found true acceptance. Equals, untethered, bound together to forge a new history, she found she loved each of them. One in particular taught her what it was to truly be loved, blessed her with a daughter that is the perfect combination of her mother's ethereal beauty and her sire's stark ferocity. He holds a special place within her heart and always will, and yet his retreat deep into his own homelands does not cause her grief for she has the love and everlasting acceptance of the others in her Circle. Some are exclusively mated; others have retained the state their bonds were first formed in, the open joining of equals.

This unbreakable bond of love, a pure acceptance she hadn't even known to seek out, acts as the bedrock to her strength and brings a constant surge of gentle confidence. She is no longer shy, no longer sits silently while others lead the way. Scythe is beautiful, capable, and still a kind and tender soul. Although she is known as Reaper among her new bondmates, she has led a charmed existence with few hardships, allowing her to develop a vital strength without the taint of the bitterness that indescribably hardens the core of a being.

She has come to us with this strength of compassion and uses it now within her lands. The arid, harsh land cracks beneath her hooves, the dust stripping flesh off old bones as it whips through the air as fine as sand. The sweet, life-giving water travels, never revealing itself in a discernable pattern. As desolate as it seems, the unforgiving terrain harbors a multitude of life; small lizards that drink the bitter juices from the prickle-plants, scaled carnivores who filter the blood of their prey into the water they need, leather-hided striders that can scent a drop of the ever-shifting water within 3 days travel, small balls of pale fur with overly large ears and tails to release excess heat who burrow deep and deeper to escape the brutality of the suns. She finds the creatures who have failed the test of Slïthcreûn's extremes, those so weakened by hovering death that her own small gift of magic can touch them.

She harvests the failing life, granting the suffering soul a final release into peace even as the last of their tattered strength nourishes her. Each one is as a mere sip of the sweet waters she travels towards, a small relief to carry her on her way. She can feel their suffering, see the shadow of their passing hovering under the glare of the suns, and releases them from their struggle as she takes the last of their life into her own body. And although her magic is slight, her spirit is strong; there are none who may judge her.

Scythe is a harvester, our Reaper, and she is wholly comfortable with herself.