Nymph

Type

Fae

Base HD

7

Terror

5

Height (cm)

250 (Avatar)

They call them land-fae. Genius loci. Archspirits. River-daughters, mountain-ladies, cave-queens, fog-damsels. They call them the part of a mountain that stands, the part of a river that runs, the part of a forest that whispers to the passing wind.

They call them gods: the gods of here and there.

Nymphs, in almost every culture, are among the very oldest gods a people learn to worship. Before they worship the great gods, people find and worship the little gods, and nymphs are the very greatest of the little gods that most people will ever encounter. There is fundamentally no difference between a river-nymph and the river she is found in; indeed there is argument to be made that the river is an avatar of the nymph, and not vice-versa.

Nymphs are the closest thing to a spirit of nature, and are to be found scattered all about the Second World, inhabiting such places as mountain passes and river bends. Most were old when the world was young, but new nymphs still periodically appear where enough divinity pools in nature. Like faeries, they are young and ever-fair, and their beauty is legendary even amongst the fae — though a fae speaking of a nymph’s beauty is unlikely to be speaking of the physical avatar they use to interact with lesser beings. Their beauty is not the beauty of things flawless, but rather the beauty of things fully themselves, things perfected and totally free from grief; and should it catch the eyes of mortals, never meant to behold the Joy that lies beyond the walls of the world, they may be forever after blinded to the World Imperfect.

Nymphs are not sessile nor are they tied to their geography, but are instead synonymous with their land. They can project avatars and these avatars can leave the immediate vicinity of their geography but once they do they lose the vast majority of their power. In theory all geographic features have an associated nymph but in practice many nymphs have retreated from the Second World and only rarely bother to interact with mortals. A place which has lost its nymph, or which its nymph has abandoned, is a tragic thing: a nymph is what makes a place a place instead of just a location — at last, the Hill is nothing but a hill among a thousand others, and the eyes which peered out since the first stars were lit have turned away for the last time.