ôtsôtot Dimîtu 🌱
Environment, Land Usage, Agriculture, Animal Husbandry
Appearance
To see them is to see an avatar of the land itself, a localized, intensified manifestation of the wild in all its glory and brutality. Their form changes with the landscape and the turning of the seasons. In the heart of a spring forest, Dimîtu might appear as a lithe and graceful being, their form woven from young, supple branches and unfurling fern fronds. Their skin would be a mosaic of vibrant green moss and smooth, damp bark, and their movements would be the quick, silent grace of a deer. New life would cling to them: birds might nest in the crook of their arm, and a trail of blooming wildflowers would follow their footsteps. But in that same forest in autumn, Dimîtu becomes gnarled and somber. Their form is of hardened, shedding bark and tangled, leafless vines. Their color is the deep russet of decay, and their body is adorned with brilliant fungi and shelf mushrooms that sprout from their knuckles and shoulders. Their movement is the slow, patient sigh of a dying tree, and their presence is the crisp, cold air that promises the coming frost. To look closely at Dimîtu’s form is to see an entire ecosystem at work. Their skin is a living tapestry of lichen, stone, and bark, crisscrossed by the shimmering trails of snails. Their "veins" are not of blood, but of a dense mycelial network that pulses with a faint, internal light, connecting them to every root and spore in the soil. Colonies of insects live in the hollows of their body, and one might glimpse the tiny, perfect skull of a field mouse nestled in the tangled roots that form their feet. Dimîtu’s head and face are the most profound and unsettling aspect of their appearance. There are no simple features, no human-like expression. Instead, there is a visage of ancient, water-worn wood, a smooth, organic mask. Where eyes would be, there are two deep hollows. From the right hollow emits the soft, phosphorescent glow of fungal decay, a cold light that speaks of compost and the breaking down of the old. From the left hollow springs the vibrant, impossible green of a single, living sprout, reaching for the sun. In one gaze, they hold the beginning and the end. Their voice is never a single sound, but the layered chorus of the environment itself: the wind through the pines, the rush of a river, the buzz of a dragonfly's wings, the distant cry of a hawk, and the relentless, quiet munching of decomposers turning a fallen log back into soil. To be in Dimîtu's presence is not necessarily comforting. It is to be made profoundly aware of your own place within the food chain, to understand that you are composed of the same materials as the wolf and the worm, the tree and the stone.
Manifestations
They are the whisper of the wind in the prairie grass, the quiet strength of an ancient tree, the collective creaking of the forests, predators capturing prey, prey escaping predators, the smells of flowers and decay.