BeentoBeetle’s Artpile

Navee was not abandoned as a baby in Middlebright like she vaguely ‘remembers’. She does not believe the lie that Satyr’s are such a rare sight because they’re ‘elusive’, and she does not trust that so many of them died in their sleep so many years ago because they were natural thieves, liars and cheats, and were being punished by the Gods.

No, Navee doesn’t believe any of it, innately she doesn’t. And she’s right! It’s just … complicated, in the sense that she’s older than all of that history. All of the rumors. She was there for the beginning, the middle, and the end of her people. Not that she really had a choice.

Navee was born thousands of years ago. When the Gods were still unwise, and loud, and far too involved and in love with their creations. She was born in a haven for the Satyrs that remained after decades of war with the elves. The reasons for so much fighting was becoming foggy, but Navee’s father — a blacksmith, treated as a servant living under the ballroom, which had been converted into a Holy Place — he remembered it all.

Her mother passed when Navee drew her first breath. It happened all too often in this time, everyone was exhausted, and starved, and grieving some family or another. Navee was only 3 when times became so, so very desperate. So very desperate that folks were turning back to the ‘old’ ways, the ways of great pyres that stunk with sheep’s blood, and chants and dances and fighting until collapse.

So very, very desperate that Navee was ripped from her father’s arms, choked on an altar, and torn open, all for the Gods. Her father was beaten, nearly unconscious, but they said he died of sorrow.

She awoke in the Afterplanes, wandering aimless, until she came to some great wooden gates, guarded by a greater figure. It asked her why she was so young, why she was here. She told it her story, crying as she did. Angered at this, the figure knelt down, cupping the girl in its hands, lifting her far, far above the grassy fields it stood in. It whispered to her, saying it would give her death a purpose.

She would be this figures golden angel, Its disciple, Its mortal coil. She would awaken one day, and she would find what called to her: she would find It, and understand her reason, and fulfill Its prophecy.

This ‘It’ was the Satyrs True God, Tina, It called Itself, who took the shape of a great, gracious man. Navee was sent off from Tina’s palms, waking up in the center of Middlebright, in a nameless village, the sun shining over her like a spotlight, her soul tiny and touched-up, skin new and soft … she was reborn, and this is a sight she would see thousands of times.

This ‘greater purpose’ Navee was given was going to come at an unknown time. That was why Navee had to come back, over and over again. Not even Tina, who cradled her when she returned to him in the Afterplanes, and kissed her head when he placed her back in the solid world, wiping Middlebright of any knowledge of her, all those who loved her would forget, same with those who hated her — a perfect blank slate, for his perfect little lamb, so she could be safe and clean and ready for what was to come … whenever that was.

Presently, Navee is on a quest to find that purpose. And this is the life in which her destiny will be fulfilled, and her yearning for The Call will be satiated. But it won’t come without pain.

Navee of Middlebright guys … Gods favorite little sacrificial lamb …