High Druid Moira of the Hollow Bough
She does not command the forest — she listens to it
High Druid Moira of the Hollow Bough is the quiet, enduring heart of Clan Sgàthach, a figure whose presence feels less like a person and more like the mossy breath of the forest itself.
Though she rarely speaks above a whisper and is seldom seen outside sacred glades, her authority is absolute within the clan — not by decree, but by the weight of wisdom, vision, and the ancient power she channels from the land. Moira is said to have been born beneath a moonless sky, in a grove that no longer appears on any map. From a young age, she exhibited a preternatural affinity with nature’s invisible currents — she calmed rabid beasts with a glance, made roots twist to protect her from falling stones, and could hear approaching warriors in the silence of leaf-fall. Trained in secret rites by a circle of elder druids now long passed, Moira rose to lead her people not as a conqueror, but as a listener of secrets too deep for words.
Her title, “of the Hollow Bough,” refers to her sanctum — a withered black tree whose heart has been carved out over centuries by wind, water, and whispering rites. Here, Moira communes with the ancient spirits of the woods, drawing guidance from the dreams of owls, the movement of moss, and the cracking of old bark in the night. It is said she can speak to the land through the blood in her roots, and that she never leaves footprints, even in fresh snow. Moira rarely intervenes in clan politics or battlefield matters unless the balance of the forest itself is at stake. When she does act, her methods are as subtle and final as the frost that kills in silence. It was she who unbound the mists that swallowed an entire Combine detachment for three days. It was she who foretold the death of a traitor before he even betrayed them. Her magic is not a spectacle — it is presence. Among her people, she is revered with a quiet awe. Among outsiders, she is a myth cloaked in moss. Among the Great Houses, she is a dangerous unknown.
She is not feared because she kills. She is feared because the forest moves when she chooses.
“She told me to leave the glade. I did not. I blinked — and when I opened my eyes, I was alone. The glade was gone. The trail behind me was gone. Only the sound of breath, not my own, was left.” — Confession of a Draconis scout, before deserting
