Virelich, the Moth-Eyed Watcher
(a.k.a. The Whisper Beneath Bark, Prophet of Bone, He Who Speaks Through Rot, the Seer)
In Guthram and nearby settlements the Seer is known not as a god, but as a Presence, Virelich is feared more than he is venerated. He is called the Moth-Eyed Watcher, the Hollow Prophet, He-Who-Knows-But-Did-Not-Ask, and Old Tree-Lord of the Broken Sight.
Some whisper he is a fragment of the Seer, broken off when the owl god turned his eye too long toward death. Others claim Virelich is a rotting tree that dreams in tongues, whose roots burrow into the skulls of the dead, drawing prophecy from their final thoughts. Where those following traditionalist worship of the Seer see a god of law and truth, local townsfolk see a creeping force of foresight, blind and ancient, that leaves a heavy mark on those who listen too long.
Though regarded by many traditionalist druids as troubling—and by some as outright heretical—the worship of Virelich has proven stubbornly resilient. Efforts to suppress his veneration have largely failed, and in many regions his cult has not only endured, but flourished. Today, most simply tolerate his rites, while others quietly fold them into the broader practices of The Old Faith, treating his worship as a local peculiarity best left unspoken but carefully observed.
Virelich never speaks plainly. His truths come as fevers, omens, and dreams of insects crawling across one’s eyelids. He does not show the future to offer clarity, but to warn, to wound, to prepare. His truths are burdens, and many who receive them are left trembling, sleepless, or mute.
A Moth-Sibyl does not lie. They physically cannot—when they try, their throats close and moths pour from their mouths. Their truth is terrible, often incomplete, and always real. They speak in half-rhymes, backward chants, or ritual silence, needing an interpreter to speak for them. Many live alone, at the edges of villages, where people bring them offerings and leave swiftly.
The Bone Question: A question is carved into a bone taken from a buried ancestor and left in a hollow tree overnight. Come morning, the bone will be gone. If an answer comes, it arrives in symbols scrawled across the seeker’s home in sap or blood—or in the screams of animals.
Jars of dead moths, mixed with wax and burned at the roots of the oldest trees.
Tongueless birds, sacrificed so their silence might please the god who speaks only in riddles.
No prayers are offered aloud. Those who cry out to Virelich often lose their voices.
In Guthram, truth is feared, not sought. But when crops rot, children vanish, or war creeps in from the dark edges of the world, someone always finds their way to a moth-sibyl, trembling with a question they wish they'd never dared ask.
Some whisper he is a fragment of the Seer, broken off when the owl god turned his eye too long toward death. Others claim Virelich is a rotting tree that dreams in tongues, whose roots burrow into the skulls of the dead, drawing prophecy from their final thoughts. Where those following traditionalist worship of the Seer see a god of law and truth, local townsfolk see a creeping force of foresight, blind and ancient, that leaves a heavy mark on those who listen too long.
Though regarded by many traditionalist druids as troubling—and by some as outright heretical—the worship of Virelich has proven stubbornly resilient. Efforts to suppress his veneration have largely failed, and in many regions his cult has not only endured, but flourished. Today, most simply tolerate his rites, while others quietly fold them into the broader practices of The Old Faith, treating his worship as a local peculiarity best left unspoken but carefully observed.
The Hollow Sight
Virelich rarely has a shrine representing him in Sacred groves. Instead, those who seek his insight go to the Moth-Groves, hidden thickets choked with hanging cocoons, blindfolded effigies, and bones inscribed with broken runes. His symbol is a moth with one eye emblazoned on it's thorax, often drawn in blood or scorched onto bark.Virelich never speaks plainly. His truths come as fevers, omens, and dreams of insects crawling across one’s eyelids. He does not show the future to offer clarity, but to warn, to wound, to prepare. His truths are burdens, and many who receive them are left trembling, sleepless, or mute.
The Moth-Sibyls
There are no priests in Virelich’s service—only those who are taken. These are the Moth-Sibyls, usually chosen through sickness, trauma, or prolonged exposure to cursed places. They are marked by milk-white eyes, or moths nesting in their hair. Some paint blinded eyes on their skin in ash.A Moth-Sibyl does not lie. They physically cannot—when they try, their throats close and moths pour from their mouths. Their truth is terrible, often incomplete, and always real. They speak in half-rhymes, backward chants, or ritual silence, needing an interpreter to speak for them. Many live alone, at the edges of villages, where people bring them offerings and leave swiftly.
Rituals of Seeking
The Listening Rite: A seeker fasts for three days and ties a blindfold of wool soaked in tree sap across their eyes. They spend a night lying beneath a hanging cocoon in the Moth-Grove. If Virelich deems them worthy, the cocoon will burst, releasing a one-eyed moth that settles on their face—and dreams will follow.The Bone Question: A question is carved into a bone taken from a buried ancestor and left in a hollow tree overnight. Come morning, the bone will be gone. If an answer comes, it arrives in symbols scrawled across the seeker’s home in sap or blood—or in the screams of animals.
Offerings
Polished teeth wrapped in owl feathers, tied to the branches of trees.Jars of dead moths, mixed with wax and burned at the roots of the oldest trees.
Tongueless birds, sacrificed so their silence might please the god who speaks only in riddles.
No prayers are offered aloud. Those who cry out to Virelich often lose their voices.
What the People Say
“When the moth lands, the hourglass breaks.” “He doesn’t give answers. He gives endings.” “The blind old tree sees better than any man.”In Guthram, truth is feared, not sought. But when crops rot, children vanish, or war creeps in from the dark edges of the world, someone always finds their way to a moth-sibyl, trembling with a question they wish they'd never dared ask.
