Witch Dogs

Fox, you wild wizard, you get me every time! This is a slooooooooow WIP, I'm still on absence but we all gotta start somewhere



"Khajit has wares.. if you have coin."
"Poor boy, magic runs deep in that family's bloodline... it's not always a blessing."

Name: Yves
Gender: male/nb (he/they)
Age: 2-4 idk
Design: 8 (XL size probably, light/balanced build)
will be shelling out for a billion beads/bracelets/necklaces/earrings lol
Lineage: redwater
Personality: true neutral || navigation & healing
A born nomad- a wanderer with thousands of miles steeped into his blood and marrow. The journey is all there is; destination is irrelevant, companions are ever changing, and when his legs cannot carry him any longer he will be happy to die with a lifetime of stories. Aimless and content, perfectly lackadaisical. The clandestine nature of their existence is in itself a vector for the magic that imbues them with purpose, guided by the whims of whatever forces claim the lands that they walk and at the mercy of all manner of spirits. A discerning mind might recognize the forgetfulness, notice the propensity to abandon tasks midway though them, and see a problem. No, this is merely the spirit of the lands being channeled through him, bidding him wander off for reasons beyond his ken.

There is a tongue of gleaming silver trapped in that wily maw. A skilled storyteller and equally talented flirt, capable of shooting the breeze with just about anyone. He rarely sets this skill to the task of lying or manipulation, instead spinning a yarn of any variety that is sure to enthrall and ensnare. Something about the eclectic accent and the unspoken wisdom in the tombre of their voice. Like moths to flame they flock to him, eager to partake in his tales of adventure.

At the core of it all is their craft. Wordless and ephemeral and clinging to every inch of the world. The roots of the trees soak energy from deep in the dirt and draw it out into the world, and they are merely a vector for its displacement for the benefit of anyone who can pay the fee. That fee is a mercurial and unpredictable thing, just as the wolf who dispenses the charms and boons. There is no telling what payment will be asked, nor the nature of the final product. They know only the request, and the final result will be determined by the ineffable rhythms of life. The well worn satchels and homemade tools are only to refine, never to create. Like many of their kin, they craft with the materials at hand. To the untrained eye their charms might seem simple, perhaps even at a mismatch with the boons they are meant to grant, but they are each steeped in something unknowable and ancient. Whether the buyer believes their worth or not is of no consequence- he doesn't really need the payment to get by.

Calm, self assured, and unflappable. He takes everything in stride. Eventually it will all work itself out, and if it doesn't, he will figure it out himself. Thus far, survival has come from his own determination and the close knit of his wandering kinfolk. Down the line, he will almost certainly continue to survive in the exact same way. And so this is not the wolf who understands stress or strain, or the weighty confines of rank. If he doesn't like where he is, he leaves. Simple as that. It's all easy as putting paws to earth and heading off on a different journey.

History:
-Born to a Rowanwood mother who made the mistake of falling for a Redwater's flattery while the caravan was camped nearby to trade with a few of the small clans that inhabited the area. After a difficult pregnancy, only one pup survived. Worse yet, it was immediately apparent that it was its fathers child. Always on the move, and though it was obvious that this was a child who was deeply connected with the mystic, there was not a snowball's chance in hell that she was going to waste time teaching her trade to a child who was meant for a different kind of life. So she took the barely weaned infant, swaddled and strapped to her chest for a long journey ahead, and followed the trade route that the caravan took every year for the past dozen or more generations. The man who'd burdened her with the little beast was nowhere to be found when she deposited the child with the delighted kinfolk who were camped at the foot of the mountain pass. She didn't much care to see him again anyways.
-Raised in a hodgepodge of a family with all manner of half siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, friends and acquaintances who joined up with the caravan as unpredictably as a summer storm. There was always someone to follow the path that the family walked every year, but never the same folks at each stop along the way.