Celyn’s Miracle Story

This is Celyn’s story of a personal miracle, as told to Robin. Please don’t read it unless Celyn has revealed in game.

Celyn pours himself another cup of wine, and dips his fingers into it, flicking three drops onto the earth. “I have another one to tell,” he says, staring up into the branches of the tree. “I, it’s not one I’ve told before so I probably won’t do a very good job of it.” He flicks a few more droplets onto the ground, and takes a drink, as if fortifying himself.

“I told you I was difficult when I was younger. There were times that I was really, really difficult. Not just fae-touched mischief. I was never that good at keeping up with my chores in the vineyard at the best of times, but there was a bit where I was just angry, all the time, about everything. Sometimes I broke things. Sometimes I stole things, and didn’t leave something shiny where they’d been. I’d probably have gotten into a lot more trouble except the fey liked me and that meant that people were nervous about punishing me too much, you know?”

He clearly cannot tell this story when looking at Robin, the way he’s continuing to stare up into the tree, not even in the paladin’s direction. “I apprenticed to the boundary-keeper and learned how to take care of the shrines for the fey. Which … I was a lot better at than the chores. That’s when they taught me a little magic, when I was out there. And it wasn’t that I wasn’t angry all the time, but … the things that I could do about it were more useful. I wasn’t breaking pots, I was cleaning muck off stones that shouldn’t have muck on them, and practicing fighting my shadow, and sometimes some fey or other would make my shadow move so it was more fun. But I was angry, and it wasn’t getting better.”

He does take a glance over at Robin before continuing. “I’m not sure if they worried about me, or what. The fey, I mean. But one day they sent me deeper into the woodland, and I’m not sure if the place they sent me was quite here or there or what. But it was a holy place. I knew that when I got there. I don’t know if they thought it was holy, or if they just knew that I could be healed there.”

He looks up at the branches again. “It was a tree. But it wasn’t a tree like a tree. It was… it was getting along towards time for harvest, but the tree was still in spring bloom. Had been in spring bloom for months, from all the flowers that had fallen off and were scattered around the roots. It was… all out of season. Just like me.” He lets out a long breath. “It was a holy place for the Wyrdling. I knew it like I knew anything, and I just, I laid down under the tree and went to sleep.”

He scrubs the side of his face with one hand. “I dreamed of birds. Two birds. They’re painted on my old shield but I’m not very good at painting so they’re not very good birds, but that’s what they’re supposed to be. In the dream, when they sang in my ears, I understood them. One of them told me why I was angry. The other one told me that I was loved.” He gestures softly. “The two faces of the Wyrdling, they came to me in a dream, as birds, and when I woke up, the … the angry I had been for years, it was gone. And so was my old name. The Wyrdling took it away.”

Celyn chuckles to himself. “So when I woke up, I needed a name. Celyn. I took Celyn as a name. It means holly, you know. And I wasn’t angry anymore. That was my miracle, the finding my place. And that’s how I became a priest.”