Campfire Stories from the Sirin 01

These will be a collection of stories from varying sources across the Mother Trees roots; tales of spirits, the unseen, and incomprehensible.

Welcome dear readers, to the light of The Campfire.

Tonight we will be visiting the homeland of the Sirins, the Mother Tree and the Meshwine Roost. The Mother Tree has been the ancestral home of the most free spirited of the races, for only the clouds are their limit. The Bird Folk have made the center of Lithoterria for as far back as any historian can recall, with their own claim being that they were first of Mother Kalia’s children. There are also many who subscribe to the belief that Kalia created all races at once, in a burst of creativity and innovation, pouring a little bit of herself into each of the races of Lithoterria.

For years travelling Sirins have been hunted for their feathers and their natural illusory properties, with their people only knowing safety within the Roosts borders. Many Sirins who travel claim to hear the voices of those who passed on the winds of storms, having perished due to nefarious deeds. It is often a common practice of the Sirin Mercantile and Mailing Commissions to send out Sirins with a wayfinders totem, a magically crafted tool to emit a small beam of light to guide them home. What happens when these birds cannot make it back to their roost?

The deaths of the lost flock, as they are called, remains a tragedy and a stain on history for the Sirin people, and the very reason they are wary of outsiders. It is because of this that Sirin Priests perform rituals on stormy days, in hope that the deluge of wind currents would spread across the land and calm the wailing on the winds.

Our first story comes from a Heron Sirin of the clergy from the Church of the Mother, by the name of Rhys. One of the practitioners of this rite to calm the wayward souls, he and his fellow choir members sing hymns once a month to call out to the lost spirits of the deceased. It had also been relayed to us that on some nights with temperate weather, there would be strange happenings. First came the winds, rattling the stained glass windows shutters, and then lightning flashes filled the abby. While the storm raged, it was up to Rhys to douse the candles for the evening, and that was when the windows would fly open mysteriously. The lightning would shine through the pews once more, revealing five shadows of winged apparitions filling a seat before disappearing when darkness once again filled the room. Rhys would relay that he cowered to his knees before muttering prayers to the Mother for safe passage, only rising when light shone through the chapel again.

Rhys remains a holy man of the cloth to this day, but he never experienced anything like that evening since. However, Rhys went on to say that since that night he would sing his hymns louder and with more feeling.

The Sirin funeral practice is one that takes place within the depths of the roots of the Mother Tree, where many of the nocturnal birds, and the Corvid Sirin reside. It is common for the scavenger birds to commit the dearly departed to rest, entombing them in the soil directly beneath the Mother Tree. It is strongly believed by the Sirin people that burials at the root of the Mighty Tree are how the Sirin people return their spirits back to the Mother, Kalia, their Goddess.

It is deep in these catacombs that our second story is told by a Potoo Sirin by the name of Jebediah. (His eyes still haunt me to this day…) Jebediah would go on to tell us few details of his home and work place, but he did offer the information that the catacombs beneath the Mother Tree are expansive, and every side has an entrance somewhere. If you do not know how to navigate the labyrinth however, your fate would be sealed, along with many other nerdowells who would attempt to sneak into the Meshwine Roosts from below. 

Jebediah is a simple man, tending to the departed as he commits them to their final resting place. It is here that Jebediah would tell us of objects that moved on their own in the dark corners. Torches moved from different sconces, sometimes you could turn your head from the light only for it to go out in the next moment. The most chilling of Jebediahs was the wailing in the dark. The funeral director would take pause when his ear caught cries in the dark, cries for help, and other voices pleading for forgiveness, only to be silenced immediately when a torch would illuminate the hall. On other nights he would catch a glimpse of these wailing apparitions in the dark corners of the halls, going to and fro between differing departments. Because of this, all personnel who work in the depths carry some form of lightsource at all times, and special ropes attached to the walls should you become lost.

It is difficult for any skeptics to test these claims, especially as the Mother Tree residents only allow outsiders within its borders on the condition of residing within particular districts of what the Locals call the “Living City”. The Yui being intermingled with their culture thanks to a shared religion, with many Sirin and Yui settling within the Meshwine Roots or Loratzen. The Sirin’s are no strangers to freedom, fear, or struggle, and it is attributed to their nature that they are often selected to be visited by wayward spirits. It is Sirin custom to light the way for a Sirin soul to find it’s way home, and that is why Sirin’s celebrate the star festival. A festival where they would hang magical stones from the Mother Trees branches, creating a sea of stars, in an attempt to light the night for the lost.