#oc: the dibellan sybil

[vosh-rakh]

“He has arranged for me to meet the Dibellan Sybil tonight,” confesses Brother Malcius as he rests between sparring bouts with his master, Abbess do’Matthri. 

do’Matthri’s face betrays no expression. She simply scratches her furry chin in thought, letting her eyes wander. “Abdul Wadud is a man of mysterious means, and ends.” She finally fixes her gaze back onto Malcius. “What did he tell you? Why does he think this is important?”

Malcius licks his dry lips and swallows before speaking. “He said that love is double-faceted. He said I’d understand what he meant when I met her.”

do’Matthri’s tongue plays around one of her fangs for a moment. “do’Matthri does not always agree with Wadud’s methods, but he is an honorable man. You can trust him.” She leans over to rest her paws on Malcius’ seated knees and look him closely in the eyes. “But remember your vows.”

“Of course, Abbess.”

“Now,” says do’Matthri, slapping Malcius lightly across the face as she rises again, “let’s continue. Your appointment is tonight, not today. Think nothing of it, and fight me.”

“Yes, Abbess.”

-

“She prefers to stay anonymous,” Abdul Wadud says. He sits across from Malcius in a closed carriage, dusk hanging heavy on the thin curtains obscuring the windows. “You likely won’t see her face, or hear her true name. But rest assured I have arranged for you to meet the Dibellan Sybil herself.”

“Yes, Master Abdul,” says Malcius, nodding and clutching his notebook full of interview questions. To meet the illustrious head of an order like the Dibellan priesthood, one must come prepared. But the space in his notebook allotted for questions is mostly blank - what do you ask a Sybil, one who has likely prophesied this meeting long in advance? He’s heard stories about her, filtered through a Maran perspective, of course. He’s eager to find out how many of them are true.

Outside he can hear the bustling city streets of Anvil slowly congregating in taverns and homes. The carriage stops outside an innocuous home, only the upper-story windows dimly lit from within. Wadud opens the door and invites Malcius to step outside. “The door should be unlocked,” he says. “She’ll be on the second floor, first door on the right.”

As Malcius begins to tumble out of the carriage, Wadud pats him on the back. “Good luck.”

-

The room is much like any other, but filled to the brim with candles. White, red, pink, and other warm colors, scented heavily, filling the air with overbearingly pleasant aromas Malcius can’t identify, almost suffocatingly so. She is seated in the corner with one leg crossed delicately over the other, her scarlet-gloved hands folded in her lap. She is covered head-to-toe in lily-white linen, and her face is obscured by a pale porcelain mask, representing the visage of Dibella. Her head is lowered slightly when Malcius steps inside, but she slowly raises it to look at him. How she can see him, he’s not sure - the mask seems to lack eyeholes. 

“Greetings, Brother Malcius,” she whispers just loudly enough to be heard. “Please, have a seat.” She gestures towards a plush chair opposite hers. 

Malcius obeys, cautiously approaching and taking a seat. He rests his journal on his lap, forgetting it for a moment in some kind of awe. The Sybil has some kind of aura about her that compels it. 

“Well?” she says, a bit louder this time. “Wadud said you might have some questions for me.”

“Ah,” breathes Malcius, snapping out of it and grabbing his journal to flip through. But suddenly all his questions feel a bit childish. Feebly he picks one at random: “What’s it like being the Dibellan Sybil?”

The Sybil laughs politely. “It’s all I’ve ever known. Did you know we’re usually selected at a very early age? I was nine when the priests came to take me away.” With a soft sadness Malcius doesn’t expect, she adds, “I can’t remember the face of my mother.”

“I can’t either,” blurts out Malcius. 

“Ah…a Maralius, are you?”

Malcius nods. He averts his eyes from the face of Dibella, and they come to rest on the written question he just asked. Suddenly he realizes she hasn’t really answered it, and says again, “But what’s it like to be the Dibellan Sybil?”

“Persistent, aren’t you,” she observes. “Every day is filled with rituals of different kinds.”

Malcius is silent for a moment, before asking, “What’s wrong with rituals?”

“Nothing, per se,” replies the Sybil. “They’re just…a distraction.”

“‘The holy life is wholly ritual.’”

“Ah. You’re familiar with Saint Olava the Fair. Of course you are, of course you are.” The Sybil straightens up a little, and, changing the subject, says, “You must not listen to our mutual friend very much.”

“He speaks of rituals, too. Silence is a ritual. Love is a ritual.”

“You mustn’t think so rigidly, Malcius. Love can be a ritual, but it often isn’t.”

“What is love, then?” Malcius leans forward slightly, his eyes focused on Dibella’s. 

The Sybil laughs. “What a question, for a Maran monk to ask.” Malcius shrinks back into his seat a little. “No, no, it’s not a bad question. Sit back and listen to me explain.”

“Love has two constituents,” she says, holding up two fingers. She folds down the fingers as she lists. “One, is the love you are most familiar with. The mother’s kind. Unconditional, eternal, but tame. Two, is the love I know best. The lover’s kind. Conditional, fleeting, but passionate.”

“Isn’t eternal love superior to temporary love?”

The Sybil sighs. “A mortal cannot measure loves, stack them up against each other. And you forget the power of passion.”

Malcius leans forward more, almost falling out of his seat. “What is that power?”

The Sybil laughs, more freely this time. “It’s not like magic, Brother Malcius. But it can be magical.”

“I’m…not sure I understand.”

“What do you know of the Dawn - the first Dawn, before time itself?”

Malcius frowns. “Precious little,” he admits. 

“Before time,” the Sybil begins, wasting no time in her explanation, “cause and effect had little meaning. Everything meant little, in fact. But conviction yet existed, among the et’ada - the original spirits - that meaning could be found, or at least created.”

“Conviction, Malcius,” she says, and he can almost hear the smile behind the mask, “like what you seem to hold in spades.” He blushes and shrinks back into his seat as he listens. 

“There were a few et’ada who were proficient in this newfound concept of ‘conviction.’ One you may have heard of, named Shezarr, or Lorkhan in the elven tongues.”

“Shezarr,” Malcius whispers back after he realizes she’s paused for effect. “The missing god. We call him Shor in Colovia.”

“Yes, like the Nords do,” the Sybil says, tilting her head slightly as she recollects. “Shor, as you say, wanted to create something new, beyond the eternal conflict of primordial spirits. He enlisted the help of many to help him in this endeavor, including his wife, Kynareth, or Kyne.

“But there was another who loved him. Well, several. But it is said that Dibella loved him from the start, when she first laid eyes upon him. She was jealous, intensely jealous, of Kynareth for having won his affection instead. So, with the help of a minor spirit of thievery, she took from the doting couple something that she lacked: conviction.”

“Dibella isn’t the goddess of conviction,” Malcius states plainly.

“Ah, but isn’t she? You see ‘beauty’ and ‘love,’ whereas I see ‘determinance’ and ‘conviction.’ What is beauty without a beholder, a beholding? The blending of beholder and the beheld into one substance, one single ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ And what is love without the conviction that it is true? Even this leads back to beauty, as what is truth if not beautiful?” The Sybil shakes her head. “I get ahead of myself. These matters concern you little, of course.”

But Malcius is gripping the edges of his seat, virtually thrumming with excitement. “No, no. Go on.”

“As I’ve said, I’ve said too much already,” she says, laughing. “The point is: Dibella became the goddess of beauty on that day before days. And the goddess of love, of passion.”

Malcius is silent for a moment, thinking. Then, carefully, he says, “I thought ‘passion’ belonged to the Daedra Lord…Sanguine.”

The Sybil tilts her head again, then nods slowly. “Of a kind,” she begins. “But consider him to be Prince of indulgence, of overindulgence, more than anything else.” She pauses. “I’m a saint, you know? Sybils are a kind of saint. And saints, by nature, see the world differently…it’s something I keep forgetting. But suffice it to say that these spheres you appoint your gods with are much more flexible than you assume. One god can represent many things, and a single concept may be spread out between several beings.”

Malcius nods slowly, and looks away for a moment, becoming entranced by a candle’s flame. 

“Malcius,” the Sybil whispers, stealing back his attention. “Would you like to know your future?”

“I’m sorry?” sputters Malcius back, caught off guard by the question. 

“A Sybil is saint and prophetess both,” the Sybil says. “I can give you but a glimpse. It is not something I afford many. Would you like to see?”

“I would be honored,” says Malcius.

“Then come closer. No, closer. Rise and approach me. Lean down for a moment.” As he obeys, she lifts up the bottom of her mask. “Kiss me,” she says, and Malcius can see her full, sensuous lips parting to form the words. 

In his shock at the request, he’s barely phased by the fact that her skin is grey.

“I can’t,” Malcius says. “I took a vow -”

“A vow I’m familiar with. A kiss won’t break it, I promise.”

“I…I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“It will come naturally. Approach it however you think best, Malcius.”

He purses his lips in consternation as she waits for him, her lips barely parted, breathing softly. She seems to grow tired of waiting, and grabs his hand, placing it behind her neck. He can feel her pulse through the cloth and her skin, a steady beat in stark contrast to the pounding he feels in his chest. He closes his eyes, leans in, and as their lips meet -

He’s seasick. He’s holding back vomit. He’s reciting prayers as he steps on dry land. He’s signing papers and telling his name, occupation, birthsign. He’s greeting a man he’s never met as though he were a brother. He’s meeting other lost siblings, all different, but with the same heart.

He’s chasing away evil with a staff, and he’s laughing with a true friend as he does. He’s begging forgiveness from the gods as he takes from the dead, the losers in the arena of this world. His heart, pounding, pounding, growing, growing.

He’s coughing. He’s not holding back vomit. His throat is swelling shut. He’s begging forgiveness from the gods, from Mara. But he’s praying that his friend next to him makes it somehow - even if he doesn’t.

Malcius pulls away in shock. The Sybil quickly lowers her mask. “What did you see?” she asks, excited. But she sees his paleness and changes her tune. “I’m sorry. It’s not always pleasant. I can’t see what you see.”

Malcius wipes his mouth with the cuff of his robes and says nothing for a long time. “I didn’t see anything,” he says finally. “But I felt many things. Things I don’t understand.”

“You must be a man of great destiny,” the Sybil says, “and not a bad kisser.”

[ansu-gurleht]

so i haven’t finished my dibellan oc yet but she will be the sybil and she will meet malcius. abdul wadud introduces them

[snowberry-pie]

Oh wow look an OC backstory post

Hey so uh Aralette’s mom was a former spellsword for hire who got knocked up by her employer and basically got fired after he found out she was pregnant. She eventually became a priestess at some Dibellan cathedral in Daggerfall and her daughter was raised by eight priestesses and a sybil!!! In short Aralette pretty much had nine moms who spent all day painting and singing and would occasionally shoo her outside to play when the Dibellan arts became a bit too much for a someone her age.

[ansu-gurleht]

what if i made my dibellan oc a dibellan sybil

[ansu-gurleht]

i’m cooking up an idea for a fic featuring malcius, do’matthri, abdul wadud, and the dibellan sybil oc, and it’s going to elaborate on dibellan love a bit. basically tes love is two-faceted: maran love and dibellan love. that’s all i’ll say for the moment