Tellura.

Large enough to breathe amongst the birds, Tellura's existence was a lonely one, blind to her children far beneath the clouds. 

Born from the earth, shaped by her tears, Waterthorn was made from silt. But such a creation was weak and bound to the whims of an ignorant god.

For eons did Tellura live, moving slowly across the land, step by step. Sometimes, she wept for herself, creating waterfalls and rivers, carving away old parts of herself, unaware of those washed away. The silt believed this the natural cycle of life, to be washed away and carved anew. Until one day, she met the sea. Some say Tellura fell in love with the sea, for she did not continue moving upon meeting the water's edge. But some believed Tellura was incapable of loving anyone but herself and became charmed with the water's adoring creations, something she craved: adoration. 

Life was gentle as it was deceiving, for centuries the silt flourished quietly between Tellura and the sea, only to be undone in a violent clash of elements time and time again. Her love was tempestuous, her will was immovable, but the silt was weary. 

Just how much more were they meant to endure?

Through countless cycles, the silt grew resentful of her antics. For a god who showed no care; deserved no reverence.

They rooted themselves amongst the vines, drank from the sea, and weakened the bonds of earth. Throwing pieces of Tellura into the coast, she cried in disbelief, up-heaving the land and rumbling with no regard for those around her as the cracks finally showed themselves. Was this the legacy she created? To be usurped by a byproduct of her own tantrums? For a moment she wondered if it was regret that she felt, but regardless, it was a moment too late. Down she fell, past the clouds, past the birds. Stripped of her godhood, Tellura grew small, shrinking until she became the mountains.

No longer bound by the wheel, the silt shed its old life and rose anew. They found themselves beneath the earth, growing stronger, heavier, tempering themselves with determination and fuelled by resentment. They had slain their god who could not love them, and in turn they would be the new ones to shape their own fate.

Waterthorn would no longer born from silt, but of clay instead.

Relation with Other Factions/Outsiders

Waterthorn aims to be a wholly self-sufficient faction within their temperate rain forest home. As such, they have very little patience for those outside their borders. Curiosity is only granted towards close neighbours with an equal amount of caution, holding them at a safe distance. Those not belonging to any faction are more likely to earn a Thorn's ire, as many are assumed to be turncoats.

Eirmuir: Friendly, cautious

Timberhold: Neutral/suspicious

Goldenwind: Neutral/suspicious

Dispersed: Hostile