On a lone island with a dense forest, stands a tree in its heart. Crystallized bark, and beautiful prisms that hung from its branches framed the doorway in its trunk. Inside of the darkness, there is a lantern adorned by a simple violet candle and flame to light your way. Pay no mind to the wetness that grows up your legs and to your waist.
Soon you will reach the other side, into a new world whos beauty rivals none.
The skies forever in a sunset or a sunrise, with 3 pale suns to be seen. Their gentle light caresses the land and the waters. Adorn the skies with the suns and the stars are stone rings that rotate ever so slowly. They grace it with their unspoken beauty, like jewelry on a noble neck. The grass is a soft mint green, stark against the small clear streams that run through it. There is another tree, whos thin branches and leaves blanket the sky. However, it refuses to cover the sky entirely, as you can see it from below through great gaps in its foliage.
The tree has a very big and wide bottom, with its roots embedding into the earth. Then, it pulls its bark into an hourglass curve, with the middle being at its atmost thinnest. You can almost not see how thin the middle gets, before the trunk curves outward again to form the branches.
The bark is silvery, with not a hint of brown in sight, and the leaves are as golden as a the corn from a good harvest. It hums quietly with life, a song that its inhabitants never forget. Soft as a lullaby, it reminds those who tend it whats to come and how they die.
The satyr like creatures are truly beings to behold. All of their chakras adorned with jewels, their eyes that have white pupils and blue scalaras. Their long needle like fingers ever so delicate as they pluck and spin threads and realities. Their midsection, chest arms and hands except for their claws are as transparent as diluted milk glass. Their hips and deer like legs consisting of stone and the light of their energy that leaks through their joints. Their heads, adorned with a mask, with silvery long hair and long ornate horns, with three orbs of their own power in between them. This is their crown, that they wear.
Their tail, long and beautiful, has keeled scales and a intricate weavers bow at the end.
These are the Styrig. Weavers of the past, present and future. Guardians of dimensions, time and space. Graceful, kind, fair beings, they prefer a solitary life. Not ones to procreate, their creators are the three heads themselves. The maiden/the lad, the mother/the father, and the crone/the grandfather. They have no name, they have no gender. They sleep, and as they sleep, they create.
The Styrig travel between worlds, sometimes to ensure that certain events transpire. They shapeshift, they alter what needs to be altered, before returning to the sanctuary through the gates.
