Priestess Tig
Tig is the young priestess of Mara Worship, goddess of the wild and the green growing world. She dwells beneath the great tree of Mara, which still rises defiantly at the heart of Nordheim—a living memory of the forest gods now fading from the city's soul.
In a city where Wodyn’s rune-priests walk openly and blood sacrifices darken the stone, Tig is both outcast and oracle. She is beautiful, yes, but with a beauty that unsettles—a quiet wildness behind her eyes, a calm that does not flinch. Raised in the old ways and sworn beneath leaf and sky, she has refused to leave even as the faithful dwindle and the city presses in.
Worshipers still come, though rarely by day. Her rites are held in hushed tones under moonlight—gatherings of the sick, the sorrowing, and the quietly devout who dare not be seen honoring the Vaneer. She anoints them in sap and soot, speaks words older than the crown, and sends them away before the city stirs.
Tig endures. Scorned by many, watched by more, she tends the roots with savage devotion. The Wodyn-priests would see her fade into myth. She means to outlast them.
In a city where Wodyn’s rune-priests walk openly and blood sacrifices darken the stone, Tig is both outcast and oracle. She is beautiful, yes, but with a beauty that unsettles—a quiet wildness behind her eyes, a calm that does not flinch. Raised in the old ways and sworn beneath leaf and sky, she has refused to leave even as the faithful dwindle and the city presses in.
Worshipers still come, though rarely by day. Her rites are held in hushed tones under moonlight—gatherings of the sick, the sorrowing, and the quietly devout who dare not be seen honoring the Vaneer. She anoints them in sap and soot, speaks words older than the crown, and sends them away before the city stirs.
Tig endures. Scorned by many, watched by more, she tends the roots with savage devotion. The Wodyn-priests would see her fade into myth. She means to outlast them.
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