Sylaeth

A flawless integration of vibrant life and slow-burning energy. Their form is always in gentle motion — tiny leaves unfurl, blossoms shift to follow the sun, embers drift from hairlike tendrils.

• Shoulders and collarbone wreathed in open blossoms, petals often glistening with faint dewdrops of molten sap.
• Arms are formed of intertwining green and russet vines, sometimes splitting open to reveal faint pulses of inner fire.
• Fingers taper to delicate vine-tips that can curl tightly or extend into fine tendrils.

A charred knot at the center of their chest, from which faint orange light often emanates, like coals beneath bark.

• Ignite Touch: Causes dry, diseased, or dead plant matter to ignite in quick, clean flame. Cannot harm healthy living beings unless willed.
• Ashen Breath: Exhales fine motes of ash and glowing spores that speed decomposition, enrich soil, and awaken dormant seeds.
• Firekin Sympathy: Calms or directs small elemental sparks, preventing accidental wildfire spread.

Typically draped in living garlands of hollow seed pods and twisted burnt branches. These make a soft clattering music when they move, warning animals that controlled fire walks among them.

• Torch of Regrowth: Grown from a branch of their original grove, its tip smolders eternally with gentle orange coals. When driven into soil, releases a warm pulse that nourishes seeds and banishes lingering rot.

Born from a scorched seed after lightning set their grove aflame. Emerged alone among smoking stumps — the Circle took them in, interpreting their survival as a sign from the wild gods.

• Trained by vinefolk elders and bearfolk agriculturists.
• Learned from halfling herbalists how to identify disease that must be purged.

Full-time caretaker of the Vale’s fire-based renewal. Consulted for managing fungal plagues or guiding seasonal burns.

Once contained a deadly blight by orchestrating a burn that encircled the infection — saved half the forest when left unchecked it might have consumed all.

Misjudged wind patterns once; flames spread into a grove of ancient, sentient mushroom folk. Though the grove regrew, it now regards Sylaeth with deep suspicion.

Dreams of the mushroom grove’s slow screams haunt their slumber — they often whisper apologies to the earth.

Deeply understands soil chemistry, disease progression, and the metaphysics of life-death cycles.

Less adept with abstract poetry or song — prefers direct truths.

“Everything dies. Everything becomes food for something else. This is neither sad nor joyous. It simply is.”

• Refuses to direct fire at sentient plant folk.
• Will not participate in burns during certain eclipses believed to anger the forest’s oldest spirits

To protect the Vale’s long-term health, even at the cost of immediate beauty or sentiment. They carry out painful purges so new life may flourish.

• Exceptional at reading subtle signs of disease — discoloration of leaf veins, sour scent in loam.
• Hopeless at structured dances or song festivals, stands awkwardly while others celebrate.

Likes

• Gentle rains after fire,
• The first tender green shoots pushing through black ash
• Sleeping among warm coals.

Dislikes

• Stagnant water
• Cloying perfumes
• Desperate pleas to save things that are clearly too far gone.

• Incorruptibly honest
• Unwavering under pressure
• Gentle with saplings and children.

• Emotionally detached; struggles to offer solace to mourners.
• Occasionally lets fires run slightly hotter than necessary, out of instinctive zeal.

Works hand-in-petal with the bearfolk steward of Earth & Growth to coordinate renewal cycles. Consults the halfling steward of Song & Memory to record names of groves or creatures lost to flame.

Vinefolk do not form traditional families. Instead, Sylaeth communes yearly with the charred remains of their birth grove, leaving offerings of bone meal and glowing coals.

Polite and measured, but sometimes unsettlingly direct. Few can meet their luminous eyes for long.

Rattles their seed garlands when speaking, often unconsciously. Will occasionally pause mid-sentence, tilting head as if listening to distant flames.