Atir Gwenaël (ah-ter gwen-ah-EL)
A Resident
Atir Gwenaël (a.k.a. Gideon)
Atir—called Gideon by those closest to him—spends his days weaving melodies from silence. His songs do not demand attention; they arrive like sunlight through leaves, gentle and persistent. Often found beneath a blooming arbor, Atir lets the natural sounds of Tír na nÓg guide the rhythm of his harp, drawing inspiration from the laughter of streams and the hush of twilight. His music is ever-shifting, reflecting not just place, but mood—a living tapestry of sound.
He delights in collaboration, often trading verses with passing minstrels or encouraging children to invent lyrics on the spot. Though his voice is soft, it carries a rare clarity—clear enough that birds sometimes pause to listen. When he sings, it’s less performance and more conversation, like he’s remembering something you’ve never told him aloud. His compositions are layered, often echoing old refrains with subtle changes, as if time itself had been rearranged.
Many believe Atir's songs are how the wind learns to change. He keeps no written scores, preferring to pass melodies from hand to hand, heart to heart. Even his instrument changes—sometimes a harp, sometimes a flute made from reeds he collects by the river. To Atir, music is not a possession but a presence, and he treats it with the same reverence he shows to life itself.
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Male
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Omnephilic
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