Legends of Belariath



When one hears the floating of wind past their ear, when one is certain a brush of fingers had caught their hair, only to look and find it but a low hanging branch, they never know quite if they are alone, or if another is there with them. In all truth, half of the time, you are imagining it! But the other half, not so true. Because Nature dictates a challenging roll and forces change upon you to keep balanced, so too does Gaea change. In Spring, her hair is a lovely light green that seems to ebb and flow around her, the skin a soft peach in color as if she enjoyed the sun. Spritely in appearance, she is waif like, delicate, almost like fine china with long reedy fingers and yet wide eyes of dark emerald green that rarely blink. She prefers a light almost gauzy dress that barely brushes mid-thigh.. Never any shoes for her legs are long and spindly and yet you have this urge to reach out, caress them along with those cherry tinted lips. In Summer, her hair turns to darkest blue, those eyes however remain the same, simply deeper, warmer... flowing. As Fall catches up, her locks of blue now become dark brown, those eyes become an amber hue with flecks of orange as if mirroring the falling leaves and their ever changing colors as well. Her flesh though still soft, becomes darker, as if she'd spent far too much time in the sun and her appearance seems almost mournful. Her mode of dress becomes like the bark of a tree. Stiff, never ruffled by a breeze. As Winter approaches, those long locks of brown turn to snowy white, her skin tone becomes a soft icy blue, those eyes once so lovely become the same icy blue as her flesh and her lips so soft are berry bright as if the promise is there that someday.. Things will be bright and cheery again.

Gaea: Nature's Caressive Goddess


Itís not a matter of good, nor evil. But of nature supreme. When Spring comes and the Winter snows are melted away, we walk through Her forests, smiling, cooing to the small little ones just born, touch upon a blooming flower and pluck it to slide it within the depths of our hair, perhaps behind an ear. We draw the other's hand close, can feel the warmth of the breeze. Hear the call of the birds above and then nearly trip upon a wolf in the process of finishing off a very young fawn. Your life was just shattered; you stare in horror, turn away. Perhaps throw a rock. Your lover slides his blade out and either chases off said wolf, or will be wearing its hide for the coming Winter months.

This cannot be Gaea... And yet it is. She is kind and wise but not all knowing; she strives to make you understand that nature revolves around balance. The trees bloom and the bugs eat the fresh green leaves. The wolf must eat, just as the deer eats the grass. It all has a reason here. Everything must thrive or die. There is neither good nor evil in nature, its only a matter of perspective. And so is the Goddess known as Gaea. Some claim she is a spirit to taunt them with thriving groves of apple trees, only to have a bear sitting in wait, claiming it his territory. Why make honey when the bees sting so badly for the sweet? Because it balances. She is no sweet sunny nymph to smile upon you all the time. This is not her job, not by her outlook. Perhaps when you need rain, she will give it. When you wish a sunny day, you will have it. Or perhaps she feels there isn't enough rain.. and it drowns your crops. One must keep perspective within the eyes of Natures calling and growth. After all, She does..

Place of Worship: Grove of Balance

When one expects to see flowers and pillars they trip upon the fallen log of moss and dew. So many it would seem weaved within them is the constant trails of the woodland creatures. Yet here, also lay many a vine of flowers to grow, or in Winter, but the last dredges of its thorns. A great oak tree seemed to bend and groan in the breeze, it would take twelve men to span it and some say if they press their ear to Sovaris, as itís fondly called by the Elves to the Faes, one could hear Gaea's laughter, to Her sighs. Everything here seems rich, compelling or even deadly when the darker months are upon us. Soft grassy knolls to sit upon. A bubbling brook that some claim is the clearest of them all. The best water to drink, but never to take from the Grove. Many places of kneeling are afforded... pick a root sticking up from the ground of the Sovaris. Sit, and listen and watch. If she is listening, if she favors you, perhaps a leaf will drop nearby, or one might view a large squirrel staring them right in the eye, chattering a mile a minute. But is he saying hello... or warning you of the wolf behind you.