A very short and petite looking readhead.
4’9", 96 lbs, green eyes, brick-red hair, fair skin, always seems to be running a fever.
Scotia’s Letters chronicle some of her adventure experiences.
Things That Go Bog
In early spring, when ice holds the fields of Cadboll Stone in an icy grip, but the sun calls to all who have been trapped indoors too long, the bogs west of town steam and heave. Long have exuberant children been kicked out-doors and encouraged to scour the peat mounds for what can be found.
And so in her tenth year, Scotia and brothers and sisters and friends found themselves digging at dirt humps that pimpled the bog and picking up what scrapes and bruises most children of the village expect to display. Three days after gashing her knee on a red enlichened ridge of stone, however, Scotia was left with the unexpected: her joints started to swell, she was warm to the touch, and her pale skin began to take on a blotchy red hue. In spite of the priest’s best efforts, Scotia could not shake the disease that held her in its consuming grasp. The disease called Red Ache, long thought eradicated in the area, was to blame. Many expected Scotia to die. Afterward, some thought it might have been better that Scotia had died.
Though she survived the ravages of the disease, the quick and agile Scotia was left weakened and feverish. Bed-ridden, and too weak to even feed herself, Scotia couldn’t even hide her face in embarrassment when her body betrayed its infirmaries.
Seven long years Scotia fought her body. Fought it in will, in determination, and in the pluck that is unique to followers of old DeadEye.
One morning, Scotia was staring at her hand. In her mind she raged at it to MOVE. It moved. And then it stopped moving. She raged again. It raised and lowered. But to her, it felt as if something had grabbed her hand and was moving it from the outside. Frightened it might be a demon, her family asked for the priest to make sure Scotia was not possessed.
“No possession,” he assured them. “Nope, it looks like magic to me. I think we’ve got ourselves a sorcerer in Scotia. She’ll have to be taught its responsibilities and dangers or she’ll have to be put out.”
And so it was that Scotia learned that the family curse, which had long laid dormant, had once again surfaced in her family and in her. Whether it was time or the manifestation of her powers, slowly, but surely Scotia could feel herself getting stronger. By the end of her 20th birthday, Scocia could use both magic and her meager strength to mend clothes and embroider the alter clothes that Cadboll Stone produced and that were so well sought after.
Not satisfied — for she had always been an active child — Scotia continued to push her body. Now, at 25, she could walk as fast as most, hold her own in tatting circles, and frog a smock for the ever-in-need children. But she was still unmarried. And none seemed to fancy the thought of bringing a fire sorcerer into their family. Also, dammit, Scotia wanted to get out and see the world. She’d been too many years locked in her body, and being about would feel good. And the priest was starting to make harumph, harumph noises.
When all seemed lost, a paladin and a dwarf walked into the village. Scotia and the priest cornered them and asked if they would be willing to travel with Scotia.
“I can hold my own and walk all day,” said Scotia to the dark-haired man. “I’m not so good with a weapon, but if you think some magic might be welcome in your travels for Ol’ Deadeye, I can do that. I’ve got someone who’s willing to porter my gear, and I’m willing to leave tomorrow.” Scotia almost added that she had nothing to hold her to Cadboll Stone, but that wasn’t quite true.
The paladin didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but said if she wanted to travel with him to the city, and their company turned out to be agreeable, he might be willing to offer something to Scotia.
Scotia agreed and so found herself on the road with a paladin and a dwarf. When she left, her whole family waved goodbye. And someone else. In behind the pack, Scotia could see the dark, scruffy leathers of Meirion. They had said their good-byes last night and the forbidden taste of the final kiss still lingered on Scotia’s mouth and in her heart.
Scotia is now the High Sorcerer of Innisfree. During the first two years of founding, Scotia’s time was consumed in laying the groundwork for the Innisfree Academy and attempting to set up a Weaver’s Guild. On the advice of Deoryr Slyss, Scotia has taken to wandering the countryside in search of fey knowledge and evaluating the magical potential of the citizenry.
Here follows the story of sorcery:
When the world was one and trees roamed free
And Erastil was even a babe, there occurred a creature
grown gross with craven corruption;
Determined to dominate all the materials of making,
The Unnamed One announced its domination and desire
And called upon the scorch of molten magma,
The fury of freezing snow,
The spark of great rumbling storms
And the liquid burn of living vitriol:
“Go and get me fleshly children that I might form more.”
And away the elements went and back they came with babes.
Into the infants poured the Unnamed One’s oppugnancy.
But only four were born.
And seeing the offense on their seed, the massive armies of man
Arose and drove The Unnamed One to death
And eliminated the wandering elements.
But what of the four born of doom and destruction?
Sinless they stood, unwitting in their talents.
Even as a babe Erastil wore the wisdom of ages:
“Let the family function and marriage be made —
In hunting the hungry fires quenched
In community the cold warmed
In trade the tense spark contained
In farming the fierce acid slaked.
And when the elements emerge, teach them too
The honor of life or drive them down!"