Banewood Asylum Federation

“Every change is brought to life by Chaos… and Chaos needs change to thrive. You cannot think of them as separate entities, for they are one and the same.”

— Yv’Aman, Ancient Yv’anda and the Keeper of the Tree

    Bane showed humans a path forward, plucked at the strings of destiny, and offered his kin both knowledge and cunning. Medi plunged the realm into a new era—one where beastkin could have hope, could evolve. One, where the Queen was no longer an all-powerful ruler, for she had lost to her own slaves.   Since then, the Kutauri split into two groups; the peaceful Harras and the vicious Harrat Wing. Similarly, a schism separated Yv’anda into Observers and Volunteers. The Kril moved from their secluded mountains to establish outposts within Banewood and worked tirelessly with Kutauri to dig secret tunnels through the unyielding Truncatop Range. Meanwhile, merfolk from Encura continuously sent them food and resources from trade with kingdoms from the vast expanse of the sea, so that the flame of rebellion would never cease. One could say that this situation resembled the times forgotten by humans, when different Sirens, Kril, and Dryads were brought together by Bane. Some would say that the two were even too similar. Ancient Dryads observe it all with a mix of hope and fear. Will this last till the end of times? Or will history repeat itself?  

Factions and Politics of the Woods

Banewood was a home to the Yv’anda for eons before the world suddenly became a smaller place and other humanoid creatures began seeking shelter in the glory of The Oldest Tree. During the seventh century of Anara’s uncontested reign, the political landscape of Banewood was constantly shifting between the violent Harrat Wing and peaceful Harras. Even the Yv'anda weren’t saved from the schism, and now consider themselves either passive Observers, serving only their God-given purpose, or Volunteers who believe that they too, can change the world around them. The Kril and Medusas from Encura have their own agendas and are ready to do anything to achieve their goals.  

Observers

Observers consider themselves traditionalists, protecting their old way of living and following their God-given purpose—to remember. They dwell near the Oldest Tree, in small hoks and dug-outs. They don’t engage with other races beyond the necessary trade of goods and information, though even then they put effort into avoiding “new technologies” or "inventions" that their counterparts embrace. All Ancient Dryads are Observers and are reluctant to part with their knowledge, though they might make an exception for those who offer the memories they do not yet have in their possession.   If you dare enter the Clearing of the Oldest Tree, be prepared for a cold welcome. It would be wise to show respect to the ancient beings that protect it unless you wish for a swift and brutal death. In times of need, remember the simple prayer that one might utter as a greeting:  

“May your Branches reach the Gods and your Roots grow deep with history.”

  Though I’ve never been able to witness more than a glimpse of this ritual, there’s a way for the Dryads to pray to the Oldest Tree and to exchange one’s mind for a memory. Some of the wise folk I’ve discussed this with have a theory that the older the memory, the bigger the sacrifice. Some claim to have seen Dryads and Kutauri losing themselves completely in the roots of the Tree. Nonetheless, all agree that whenever there’s magic involved, the price is always steep.    

Volunteers

Volunteers are Yv’anda touched by change, or at least that’s how they like to think of themselves. In the eyes of older members of the clan, they’re simply youngsters with too much energy and too little reason. Yet, the Volunteers play a crucial art in the politics of Banewood. They align themselves both with Harrat Wing and Harras, playing arbiters, guides, and healers. Though not many of them directly participate in raids against Dragsa, they are more than ready to use their magic to help the newly freed Kutauri.   Volunteers seek all knowledge of the healing arts and embrace the inventions that trickle down to Banewood through Lake Frothloch and Encura. They’re curious, yet remain polite in their endless inquiries. If you’re willing to lose an evening or two sharing knowledge, you might as well forge a friendship that will last for years to come.   To further separate themselves from the old traditionalists, Volunteers decorate their faces with fluorescent paints and choose more vibrant colors for their clothing. Most of their outfits are inspired by venomous snakes and toads and poisonous plants that can be found in Banewood. Make sure not to underestimate them, for they use their knowledge in much more creative ways than their elders.

The image of a centaur looming over their human oppressor has solidified itself in the consciousness of Kutauri. If you venture deep enough into Banewood, you would be wise to recognize the warning signs of Harrat Wing. The symbols of lightning striking down slavers and horseshoes painted red indicate that you’re trespassing near their outposts or secret routes. It might be best to retreat or at the very least, be extremely cautious.  

Kutauri

Name Giving This is the first tradition that the freed Kutauri established. Medi was the first to be given a name—The Father of the Free Kutauri—and also the first to reject it and take another— The Wrath of the Beast. Nowadays, Name Giving is a rite of passage and a milestone for every centaur. Usually, the ceremony takes place on the birthday of the recipient, to mark their crossing into adulthood. Age, however, is not a requirement. Instead, to be given a Name Kutauri have to:

have a passion

have a mastery of a skill

have a strong spirit

The Name is given by the oldest relative or guardian of the centaur, and oftentimes the names chosen can be fully comprehended only by those closest to them. There are, however, notable exceptions, like Lakota, The Talking Racoon. However, her story is better told over good beer and in the company of friends.   Of course, Harrat Wing has its own, twisted version of Name Giving. A Kutauri has a right to a name only when they shed the blood of the slavers.  

Meditation Circles

If you allow your nose to lead you through Bane’s Glade, it’ll surely take you near the center of the spiral, to a tent filled to the brim with burning sage. Most of the elderly Kutauri dedicate their days to meditation and careful contemplation of life there. Much like Yv’anda, they tend to watch the world around them and usually know everything about the ins and outs of Banewood Asylum. They congregate around one of the lodges, outfitted with pillows and blankets, to provide as much comfort for their tired body as they can afford. If you wish to see the colors of the wind or hear the whispers of forest critters, sit next to a meditating Kutauri and ask them to guide you through the veil of reality and onto a profound, spiritual journey.      

Storytelling

Every evening after supper, the youngest Kutauri are ushered in front of Bane’s Hut, around a campfire. Adults come and share their wisdom through stories, passing down generational knowledge and teaching their children about morality and heritage.   When the sun fully sets and the kids are sent to their beds, the campfire is a safe haven for those who can’t find rest at night. Especially those bearing the marks of slavery find solace in the flames and comfort in the quiet companionship of their kin. Fears and doubts are traded for gentle assurance and hope. Every now and then, an Observer will ask to listen to a memory to immortalize it.  

Weaving

Carpenters, craftsmen, and workers live in the middle of the spiral and their daily life focuses on the same routine. Amongst fishermen, smiths, farriers, potters, and cooks, the most vivid lodge belongs to the weavers. Their tent stands out, with with just as much color as was used to craft it—and if one looks closely, a story of Medi of the Free Kutauri is weaved into the fine material.    

Stargazing

The Yv'anda love to stare at the night sky and regardless of the divide amongst them, still meet to do just that. The Dryads lie on the grass and look at the stars as if all the truth of the world was written there. Sometimes, they’ll share their wisdom with those who are willing to listen.   If you spend the night stargazing with Yv’anda, you’ll get a chance to become their friend. Though they’re wary of humans and unwilling to share secrets, they’ll provide you with a chance to prove yourself.  

Dance-off charades

Though Kutauri abhor hazard and gambling, the young centaurs have found a way to circumvent the rules of the elderly to have some fun. If you want to quickly gain wealth at the Glade, you might try to challenge youngsters to a danceoff charade. Two teams face each other, in every round one member of the team draws an animal tile and then comes forward. To the sound of rhythmic thumping and clapping, they need to dance like the animal on the tile. The teams will alternate in their guesses and if they get the animal correctly, they score a point. The team that gets 5 points first, wins.
RULES You cannot make any sounds. You cannot stop dancing when you’re performing. You cannot cheat.
    Betting: to the winner go the spoils. However, Kutauri very rarely deal with coin. Instead, they’ll bet with tools, food, small favors, or trinkets.  

Sweat Lodge

Being allowed entrance to the sweat lodge is a sign of great trust for the Kutauri. The door of the hut faces southwest, the direction of the Fortress, but the exit is turned toward the heart of the Glade. Those who enter, accompanied by their demons, leave pure and ready to join the community.   After each repetition of the chant, the participants must renounce their demons. They voice their fears and regrets and allow the heat to purge the darkness.  

The chant: Great spirits of old, hear my plea protect this vessel, set my spirit free.

 

The Ritual

Liwanu, Joyful Rain, leads the sweat lodge and performs the purifying ceremony. She’s the one to diligently heat the stones and prepare herbal incense, as well as initiate the chant. Every willing participant must shed their clothes, bathe in the cold water of a spring, and walk into the hut with head bowed low and shoulders hunched. Liwannu sits outside the lodge and leads the participants through the experience.  

To understand the true power and importance of these lands, we must delve deeper into the history of the world than any human before us had dared to. It is an exciting journey, but also one that’s bound to shake your understanding of the world.  

The Myth of Creation

Every culture on these lands has its own stories of Chaos and Order, of the beginning of life on Deuslair. You can learn about most of them from scholars, historians, and well-rounded explorers, but there is one that cannot be so easily found. Yv’anda, the Dryads that have inhabited the woods known to you as Banewood Asylum since the first tree bloomed to life, made sure of it. Many humans claimed to have glimpsed at the hidden knowledge, to have befriended an Yv’anda and learned its secrets, but none of them have been truthful. Not one of them understood the world as the Dryads do. Perhaps you’ll be the first.   You won't hear about that from your priests or teachers. No Yv’anda will speak of it, either, for the knowledge about the creation of humans is a dark secret buried in the roots of the Oldest Tree—and it is there for a good reason. Eons have passed since Chaos and Order fought and left the world to its own devices. In that time, plants grew, animals provided, Yv’anda remembered and humans—we changed. We evolved, created our own civilizations, and conquered the continent. The Ancient Yv’andas watched our progress, had seen our kindness and our cruelty, and decided to simply let us forget. After all, it was not our purpose to remember, was it?   Some of us believe in Gods. Follow and worship Order, unaware that our existence would have been different had it not been too weak to bind us. Some of us believe in science, shunning the idea of higher beings. And some of us forget that it has any importance at all. But Yv’anda remember our origin and continue their watch. Every year, they bury their memories in the roots of the Oldest Tree, immortalizing ourdeeds. The foundation of Dragsa, the birth of Queen Anara, and then, her reign. The creation of beastkin and their slavery.  

The Legend of Bane and his Children

There is a unique and powerful magic in names; what we name, we can understand. So, why are these woods called Banewood? This one secret has become a legend amongst Yv’anda, has trickled down to the Kutauri, Kril and Medusas, and whenever you sit with them for the evening, there’s a chance that it’ll be told. I suggest you listen to it carefully and take to heart the lessons it teaches, for at its core, the Legend of Bane involves humans.   Once upon a time, there was a little village nestled at the foot of the mountain. Though its name is long lost and its inhabitants forgotten, there’s one person the Dryads remember fondly. A child that was born with a promise of change. A boy who grew up curious, asking questions and yearning for knowledge. And finally, a man who came to know the very definition of regret.   Bane was an ordinary human on the outside, with an extraordinary mind. When he saw how the villagers fought with Dryads for every cut tree and how they challenged Krils for every piece of mined ore, he was the only one to ask: why? Curious, one day he dared to venture into the forest, making sure to carry neither a weapon nor a tool. Yv’anda noticed his presence and though they were prepared to defend their home, they soon discovered that they didn’t have to. Bane had an inquisitive soul and an open mind. He quickly befriended the tribe and convinced the Dryads to allow humans to collect fallen trees for wood. In exchange, humans would share their innovations freely.   With time, similar deals followed. Kril allowed the villagers to mine iron in exchange for tools and trinkets, and Sirens let them fish in exchange for songs and tales. For years, humans fit in, as if Order itself placed them there. Bane met a woman named Ra and together they started a family. But as he grew older, the true nature of humankind twisted his children.   Astrid, his precious daughter, was the first human to conquer the seas. She invented faster, more durable ships and returned to the village with a whale she had killed herself. Her ships could endure the harshest of storms and her crew could navigate the waters with ease. Soon, there was nothing that could stop her voyages—but sirens and their request for tales. Astrid, too busy with perfecting her trade, forgot how to sing and craft stories. When the sirens rejected her improvised tale, she reached for her harpoon. With blood still fresh in the salty waters, Astrid felt like a goddess.   Abraham, Bane’s only son, had no mind for seas or long journeys. His practical mind was always focused on providing for their village. When coal and iron became insufficient, he went to the caves of the Kril’s Mountains and after thirty days in darkness, found gold. The metal could not be used to make either tools or weapons, but its enchanting glimmer wedged itself into Abraham’s heart. He ordered his men to mine it, disregarding Kirl’s distressed warnings. Then the world of humans shifted. Golden jewelry and trinkets became a symbol of status and soon, the first life was forfeited in its name.   Afrafasti was born different—a child with both sexes in one body, and talent for magic. Following legends of gods who were also neither male nor female, for years Afrafasti thought of themselves as the favorite. With Ra’s almost undivided attention and Bane’s gentle hand to guide them, Afrafasti lacked nothing. But that was the beginning of their downfall. They were friends of the Sirens and of Kril, but most of all, they were followers of Bane's footsteps of Yv’anda. It was Afrafasti who first discovered what you now know as the Root of Life. A little crystal in a cave, deep in the forest, but so potent in magic that Afrafasti could not leave it be. In no time they discovered its healing properties and used it to help the villagers. They kept it a secret from Bane and Ra, and instead pridefully called themselves: the Heavenly Healer. The allure of power was too much. The more they used this power, the more strain it put on their mind and soul. The selfless act of healing changed, as they started to ask for things and deeds, more and more each year. After a while, they would not even lift a finger if the reward was not up to their demands. Their soul was slowly being corrupted by Chaos without anyone noticing.   Years passed, while the Dryads, Kril, and Sirens watched in horror as humans changed themselves and the world around them. The agreements made by Bane barely held, with tensions rising and blood spilling, shrouded in darkness. Sirens could not bear to see the cruelty born in the hearts of humans nor the slaughter of their kin. They decided to leave this land—free like the water flowing in the vast expanses of the ocean, they went to realms beyond human grasp. The Kril became reclusive and stopped trusting humans as they did at the beginning. Yv’anda silently observed, as they did in the centuries before.   Meanwhile, three siblings plotted against their father as they could no longer stop their aspirations and desires. One day they set a trap under the innocent guise of inviting him to a family dinner. In their greed, pride, and lust for power, they forgot—as many humans did “inthe” past—that Bane was never one of them and that his biggest strength was his mind. Afrafasti started slowly gathering magic into a crystal in their hand, ready to unleash it at a moment's notice. Astrid reached for her weapons with determination in her eyes. And then the men hired by Abraham surrounded him. Though his heart broke when all three of his children were ready to kill him, he was prepared and acted without hesitation. He cast a spell so powerful that even the crystal shard in Afrafasti’s hand could do nothing to break it. The roots of the Oldest Tree sprung from the ground, crushing the men and imprisoning his children—forever.   Bane returned to the forest, never to set foot outside of it again. Yv’anda acknowledged his noble sacrifice, the blood of his own children spilled and their spirits bound to the tree. But it was too little, too late. Ra, outraged at her husband’s lack of mercy, riled the men and declared war on all friends of Bane. Soon, she took another husband, and in honor of her lost children, named their first daughter An'ra—wrath of Ra.   In his last breath, Bane tugged at the magical core of the world, shredding his soul in the process, but managing to focus enough for one more spell. “No kin of Ra, no subject to her whims, shall ever survive in these woods. No human shall ever cut a tree or take a life, for as long as my will lasts.” The spirits of his children, guided by magic, rose from the roots of the Oldest Tree and bound by their father’s last request, swore to protect the forest.   After several dozen centuries, we forgot the true origins of our Queen, the descendant of An’ra, Daughter of Ra. Anara has always been there, ruling over Dragsa and pushing humans towards innovation and greatness. What can Yv’anda know of her and her kin? Is there even more to this story? It remains an undisputed fact that the Queen has never set foot in Banewood. That her armies have never conquered the whole land of Kallonia. It is no wonder then, why Kutauri fled there.   The legend of Bane lives on and you can find traces of it all throughout the forest. The biggest clearing, inhabited by Kutauri and Yv’anda is called Bane’s Glade, for that is where the man built his homestead. Parents tell children amazing stories of Bane and his adventures, though most of them have little in common with truth. I’ve prepared for you a handy dictionary of phrases and idioms that sprung from this legend.  

The Breaking of Chains

The myths and legends of the Dryads aren’t really what you’re here for, are they? No, I wouldn’t think so. As rich in culture and knowledge as Banewood is, nowadays its significance on the maps of Dragsa is singular—as a patch of land yet to be conquered An asylum to the beastkin that broke the chains of slavery, opposing the reign of Glorious Anara and spitting on her might. But are you curious enough to ask: how? How did the beasts manage to win their freedom?   He was born as a seventh son to a dam that could not name her foals. The pedigree was of no importance, as they were all bred much as draft horses were—to spend their lives working tirelessly, hauling goods and plowing fields. His tail cut at the dock, blinders permanently fastened to his head and a bit keeping him from making a sound, he was broken in, as were all of his kin. Had any of his slavers bothered to look closer, however they would have noticed the hatred shining red in hiseyes. The determination to persevere out of spite; the heart breaking with every hit of a crop that fell on a child’s back.   Much like the humans of eons ago, he gave himself a name—Medi. And a purpose—to be free. And there must have been enough Chaos in him, passed down through generations and mutation and magic, because as he changed, the world changed with him. There were three signs given by fate, harbingers sent to warn Yv’anda of what was to come. A red moon, to bathe the land in blood; a cyclone, as wild as a mustang, to destroy everything in its path; and a dream that all Kutauri dreamt on the same night.   What we know for sure is this: two hundred years ago, when the sun rose to a land tinted red, Medi rode the fields he used to plow, his master bound and dragged behind him. As the blood of the man seeped into the ground, Kutauri answered the battle cry of one of their own. There was no rhyme nor reason to the fight that followed, only desperation driven not by fear of death and pain, but by a yearning to follow a dream. Medi picked up a rusted scythe and with madness in his eyes, cut a path through the slavers. One by one, the heads of their tormentors rolled. No blade, no arrow, no spell touched him that day.   The news of the rebellion reached the Fortress and the Queen demanded blood. Soldiers and beastkin were dispatched to deal with the unruly centaurs. In three days, they found the escapees and planned to have them all killed. Medi prayed to all of the gods, known and unknown, and when the first raindrops fell on his bloodied back, he rose once more, to face the enemy. And though he led not warriors, but workers, to battle, there was no hesitation in their hearts. Just as Yv’anda were forewarned, nature itself aided the Kutauri; the clouds swirled in angry circles, the wind howled the battle cries of the oppressed centaurs.   The consequences of the rebellion were severe. The Queen did not take the failure of her soldiers kindly and thus, the Purges of Beasts became another bloodstain on the history of Deuslair. In the weeks following the battle, Anara ordered the death of ten thousand beastkin, most of them Kutauri. Women and children were tortured and their mangled corpses decorated the streets of the Fortress. Men were sent to mines and forced to work themselves to death in the futile hope of saving their families. Nevertheless, the cruelty of the Queen could not vanquish the sudden hope of beastkin.   Medi led his people to Banewood, and as Yv’anda welcomed them with open hands, the forest gained a second name— Asylum. There’s no solid evidence and even the Dryads would be hard-pressed to explain the shift in the very fabric of the world that changed the weather around Banewood during that year. Frequent storms have been known to hit the Truncatop Mountains and a blizzard was quite normal for Lake Frothloch. However, after the freeing of beastkin, it felt as if nature had grown sentient. Every time the Queen gathered her forces to strike against Banewood, her generals had to battle not only Kutauri, but terrible weather conditions, as well.

The Conflict

Though the Yv'anda are in general a peaceful folk, the conflict between generations is evident. None have raised arms nor sought to directly hurt one another, but families have been torn apart and trust has been broken by the schism. For us, it might look like a natural order of things, for the young to seek their own path and renounce the ways of their parents. For Yv’anda though, this is the first time in history that such a thing has happened and on such a large scale. Most of the Observers aren’t willing—or perhaps they lack the ability to—understand their youth, blaming Kutauri for the disruption of their peace. On rare occasion, Elder Kril would issue a notice to all Yv’anda, calling for unification. Rarer still are the Volunteers who try to bridge the gap between the two fractions, risking their feelings. Neither group will directly support one another. Should a Volunteer get injured during a raid, they’ll be reliant only on their peers.   Though Harras and Harrat cannot exist without each other, the communication between those fractions is fragile and ridden with secrets. It's not uncommon for Harras to smuggle younglings from under Harrat’s wings when it becomes clear that they’ve bitten more than they can chew. It’s also not uncommon for feisty youth to run from the Glade, chasing dreams of bloody glory, completely unaware of the brutal reality. Harrat hides its true, cruel visage from their peaceful brethren and cultivates an image of gallant heroes, fighting for freedom.

Banewood Asylum is a place where different cultures and races meet and mix, and their trade and economy couldn’t be more different. Whereas Harras, the peaceful Kutauri living in Bane’s Glade don’t often use coins for trade—instead preferring their internal system of communal exchanges and equality—Harrat Wing has embraced all sides of capitalism. Similarly, Kril do not shy away from trading with the outside world.  

Merchants traveling through Kril territory can expect to face capricious weather conditions, bandits, basilisks, and of course, scorned Kril with their illusions and traps.

 

Brutal Efficiency of Harrat Wing

Under the leadership of Red Lye, the Harrat Wing has become vicious in its quest to end slavery. Their main source of income is the settlement near Lake Frothloch, a hub of trade in the north. They have imposed taxes on imported goods and the coin gained from that is used to support their military. Information has as much, if not more, value than well-made swords and armor. That is precisely why they do what they can to keep the relationship with Encura blooming.

Kril Trade Routes

Kril trade routes are often perilous to inexperienced merchants or overconfident travelers. It’s much smarter to hire a guide than navigate treacherous mountain passes. Kril tribes, of course, benefit from their immense knowledge of the land. Their fees are steep, but most are willing to pay and live through the journey.

Dance of Order and Chaos

The world was born, as many worlds are, with a thought. It was willed into existence, shaped and formed, until it resembled what you can see with your own eyes. Before the sky was blue and the grass green, Order and Chaos roamed here, unbound and in harmony with each other. When Chaos ran across the world, the ground shook and the earth parted. Order followed, shaping the landscape, rising mountains and carving canyons. When Chaos wept, Order took its tears, drained the salt out of them and filled the rivers and lakes. When Chaos touched the surface it created life. Engulfed in its passion, Chaos poured itself into every part of the world, elated and free. Order named all of its creations and gave them a purpose. Thus, plants became plants and their purpose was to grow; animals became animals and their purpose was to live and provide; and Yv’anda became Yv’anda and their purpose was to remember. When the world tilted on its axis and the two deities tore each other apart, Yv’anda were there to witness it. With its dying breath Order cast out Chaos, caging it in its own universe and sealing its access to Deuslair. It was too weak, however, to put a name to Chaos’ last creation, thrown at the world with malice. Yv’anda watched as they grew and as they formed themselves and molded their hearts. Unaided and asunder, they gave themselves a name—humans, and a purpose—to thrive. But they did not fit into the structure that Order had in mind for the world. They were too bold, too curious and too ambitious to be put in place. But more importantly, they had onething that Order couldn’t have accounted for—the power to create, in the image of Chaos.

Kril

Spirituality Spirituality is a part of their culture. The bird-folk tend to temples and shrines pressed between the rocks of Truncatop mountains with diligence and single-minded determination. It is said that those who make the pilgrimage to the Owls Peak—a most treacherous and arduous journey—and back will have earned the title of a sage. The Kril pray through their illusions, visualizing their gratitude and hopes, sharing their innermost thoughts with the Gods and the spirit world.   Illusions The Kril love their magic and show it off as often as they can. Usually, it results in trickery and mischief, but Kril are quite imaginative. Oftentimes, when traveling or passing the time, they’ll sit around a campfire and share intricate illusions. Those who can create the most intriguing, creative, or astonishing mirage, gain popularity and respect. If you want to get some information out of a Kril, offer to show them parts of the world they’ve never been to before. I’m quite sure that they’ll be eager to add the illusion to their repertoire.  

Yv’anda

Winter and summer solstice These are the two dates that hold the most importance to the Dryads. All Yv’anda, no matter their faction, gather twice a year in the Clearing of The Oldest Tree to pray to the Gods. These days and nights are some of the most magical in Banewood, for the veil between planes is the thinnest and the power of the Gods seeps through the branches of the Tree. During the day, Yv’anda fast and meditate, share memories with each other, and contemplate their purpose— something that has recently brought much discord into their community. At night, they conjure lights to rise above the treetops and float towards the moon.  

The Sacrifice

Observers still diligently follow their ancient traditions, among which is the Sacrifice. Yv’vanda who witnessed historical events or have gathered knowledge or secrets that are best left buried under the Tree, give up their memories—and themselves. I do not know the exact words of the ritual, for I have only heard of it in passing, but the Sacrifice’s face etches itself into the bark of the Tree at the end of the ceremony. The Yv’anda then gather around them and sing until the morning. The Sacrifice wakes with the first rays of sunshine, a blank slate, open to experiencing the world for the first time.   It is said that to access the knowledge guarded by the Sacrifice, one has to, pardon the pun, face them first.